#you have the perfect personality for swing shift

[pearblossommina]

My boss: why do you want this job?

Me: starts pouring my heart out about my boyfriend and my relationship struggles and how I want to work on day shift so that we can spend more time together

Her: well you should certainly apply for the position! And tell him you already have a maid of honor

[jarofstyles]

Pressing Questions

We love new husbandrrry >:)

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WC- 4.4k

Warnings- exhibitionism, slight breeding kink, completely cute n flirty babies, husband x wife kink???

---

“Hey, husband?” 

“Yes, Wife?” It sounded so good coming from their lips. It made her borderline giddy as she looked over at him to find him already looking over at her. The flush she felt in her cheeks bled down to her chest. They were finally fucking married. 

“What made you decide you were marrying me?” Y/N asked as she lounged next to him. Their honeymoon in full swing, Harry had rented out a cabana with a daybed so he could cuddle up to her on the beach and Y/N was positive now that it was definitely one of many things he had up his sleeve. The aesthetic had been perfect to her Pinterest board, but she had a feeling Harry knew that.

Roses in the room, champagne upon arrival, brand new swimwear just for her… she had been absolutely spoiled since they landed. Just like he promised. 

The warm air flowed over their forms, her head resting on her bent arm as the other held the fruity cocktail she had drunk an embarrassing amount of in the last three days. Some kind of coconut and lime thing that had her feeling more giggly than she could remember being in most of her adult life, but she was safe here. Safe with Harry, just like she had been dreaming of. 

 Harry chuckled and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his chest. He traced a lazy circular pattern on her bare hip with his fingertips as he spoke, his voice low and deep. Slightly hushed, keeping it intimate. Just the way she liked it. It was like he was fine tuned to appear to each and every thing she found attractive- or somehow managed to make everything he did appeal to her. Either way, she felt her tummy flutter. 

"Darling, is this a trick question? Do you really think I only have one reason to marry you?”  Her husband acted like it was a ridiculous question but pressed a kiss to her forehead, giving her an answer regardless.  "You’re beyond beautiful, the funniest person I’ve ever met, smart as a tack... and you put up with all my ridiculous bullshit. All of those cliche reasons and more. Not t’mention you dealing with my insane schedule and giving me your honest opinions whenever I ask, even if they’re a little sassy.” Giving her a look, he got the laugh he wanted out of her before tilting his head in question. “Why wouldn’t I marry you?”

“I dunno, I just feel like…. I mean, I know I’m a catch.” She smirked, giving him a wink that she immediately regretted. At least she could be cringey with him and he would find it endearing. Her winks were not nearly as cute as his were.  “But was there a singular moment that you knew you were going to keep me?” His touch always did make her melt. 

Harry, ever the touchy and slightly clingy boyfriend- nay, husband-, couldn’t keep his hands off of her before they got married but… compared to this trip? Y/N was genuinely unsure there was a single moment without him with his touch somewhere on her body. It had been a little shocking at first but every single moment made her feel more addicted to the fingertips pressing into her, arms pulling her into his body or the lips ghosting her skin. The real problem would be when they got home and she couldn’t just have this on tap. 

Harry let out a deep breath, shifting to roll onto his side and propping his head up with his hand as he took in her beauty. The sun was giving her skin a warm, golden glimmer, and it took all his willpower not to pounce on her at that very moment and take her right there in the cabana.

"You want one singular moment, huh?" He hummed, pretending to think about it as his fingertips continued their slow path tracing her body. "There was this one time..."

Her breathing caught in her throat as his fingers took a lazy trail over her body. Harry had this way about him that had made her a little nervous with how attentive his gaze was, but even so… she loved that feeling. Like he was always clinging onto her last word. Even as her husband, he seemed to use this power to his advantage. 

“Mmm?” She asked, tossing back the final bit of her drink before fiddling with the cute little paper umbrella. “What time?”

His lips curled up into a small, smug smirk as he watched her react to his touch. He loved the power he had over her, the way his fingers seemed to make her breathless and her eyes got a little hazy. The way her body subconsciously arched into his touch.

Harry moved his hand from her hip, slowly tracing it up her side and over her ribcage, his touch so light that it almost tickled.  "It was very early on," he said, his voice low and husky. "We were at my place, just hanging out. You were wearing this… little fucking tank top." The way he said it made her know that he was thinking about that tank top to this day. Flattering, even if she couldn’t place the moment he was talking about.

She had to wrack her brain for a moment, trying to remember which day it was that he was referring to. The beginning days had been slightly hazy considering their romance had gone from tentative flirtation to a whirlwind as soon as the sexual dam had broken. 

“Which tank top?” 

Harry's smile grew wider as he saw her trying to remember. It was something he could never forget. "It was that little pink one, with the sexy little bit of lace at the neckline. Lacy straps, too," he said, his voice taking on a slightly dreamy tone as the memory played in his head. "It was so teeny tiny that I could see your bra through it..." Moving closer to her, his hand moved lower on her body, tracing over the soft, sensitive skin of her stomach. He knew exactly how he was affecting her. It was considered a bit of payback for said tank top.

"And those shorts you had on... so short that I could see your hips and legs… and the bottom of your bum when you moved the right way? Mm, I think you’ve always been so cruel with teasing me, baby.” The man obviously loved it though. There was no hiding that from her. 

Despite it being a private beach, Y/N felt the flutter of both fear and anticipation as he flirted with her so blatantly. Recalling a time she could definitely remember now, a movie night at his place where she had worn a matching pajama set that wasn’t outright sexy but… definitely was known to show off her body.

“Ohhhh. That one.” She grinned. “Seeing me in that made you know you were gonna marry me? Perv.”

“Hey now, I just appreciate beauty when I see it.” Harry countered with a laugh, acting slightly affronted as if his hand wasn’t now resting just over the waistband of her bikini. “So sue me for thinking y’looked incredible.”

 Moving even closer to her, his body pressed against hers as his lips brushed against her ear. His voice was sultry as he spoke, a little kiss pressed right underneath it.  “And I distinctly remember you wearing that little outfit just to drive me absolutely wild, you little minx. You can’t even deny it now. I know how that pretty head of yours works.”

Y/N snickered at the call out, knowing he was very much correct. She had done it to test him, to see how much he was willing to put up with back in the day, what would make him tick. He may call it teasing, but she called it an experiment for scientific research. 

“You are such a flirt today.” She took a moment to put the glass down before facing him again, carding her fingers through his wavy hair. The sea air did something to it that made her even more attracted to him, something she hadn’t realized possible until she had seen it herself. “But keep the memories coming.” Aka the compliments. She felt loved up and was very much in the mood to hear more. “What else did you think?”

Harry's eyes darkened slightly as her fingers ran through his hair. He loved it when she touched him like that, it sent shivers down his spine, making him want to lean into her like an eager pup awaiting pets. 

"Other things that cemented it?" He murmured, his hand on her hip giving her a gentle squeeze.  “There’s loads. Mm… I’d have t’say, the way you'd get all flustered when I teased you. The way you'd get all sarcastic and bratty when I annoyed you. How you were so confident and fiery, but at the same time so shy and sweet..." he trailed off, knowing he could go on for hours and hours when it came to what he loved about her. It was hard to get him to shut up about it, actually. 

“So you like when I’m bratty. That’s what I’m hearing.” She giggled, teasing him slightly despite him scolding her for it prior. “I think my moment was when you set up that whole thing on Valentine’s Day. Cause god knows you’ve got all the money in the world but you knew I hate fancy restaurants so you did like… the whole blanket fort thing. With the charcuterie board and champagne.” The dreamy sigh left her lips. It had stuck with her every day since. He may not even realize how important it had been for her, but Harry was the first person she’d dated who had ever made her feel that special. 

“You listened to me when I said what I liked. You got my favorite movie lined up and made me sweet and salty popcorn like I like. You even remembered you popped the wrong one and told me to wait and… I dunno.” She shrugged with her shy smile lighting up her face. “I knew I’d never find anyone else like you.”

Harry's gaze softened as she spoke, warmth spreading through his chest as she described his absolute favorite Valentine's Day. He hadn't known at the time it had been such a pivotal moment for her, but now it made perfect sense. His wife was sentimental that way. Something personal meant way more than the clothes he had bought her, or the house he’d got for them. His thoughts were everything to her.

He gave her a tender look, shaking his head, fingers tracing a gentle path along her arm. It was impossible to keep his touch from her, and he didn’t feel like trying. "You mean when I accidentally burned the salted popcorn?" He winced at the memory. It was a weird thing he always thought about, but in his defense the smell had been pretty bad. Thankfully he had air freshener on hand, though apple cinnamon didn’t exactly mask burnt popcorn. 

"Yeah, sorry about that. I was so focused on making sure everything was just right for you that I didn't pay enough attention to the microwave. Plus, your pretty face was distracting enough. Could barely form a proper sentence.”

The warmth flooded her tummy at the compliment, making her want to kiss him even more. It was held off considering she knew it would most definitely be something that got carried away, but that didn’t stop the urges. “I’ll be honest, I probably would have eaten the burnt popcorn. The fact that you’d even managed to remember those little facts about me had me like… giddy. I hadn’t felt that way about a crush since I was a teenager.” The admission came easily.  There was no shame in how much she loved Harry, even if she did tease him to say he was the clingy one. 

 Another question popped into her head, and considering he seemed happy to talk now that he’d had his beachside nap, she took advantage of it. “Were you nervous to propose?”

Harry's hand moved back and rested on her hip, his fingers rubbing over the soft skin as he answered immediately. 

"Nervous? Oh, absolutely. Fucking terrified, my love. Even though I knew you'd say yes, I was still nervous as hell." He let out a sweet hum,  softly, leaning in closer to her, his lips almost touching her ear as he spoke.  "The most nerve-wracking part was the time between when I proposed and when you actually said yes. It felt like the longest minute of my life..."

“You knew I’d say yes. C’mon, H.” Y/N’s giddy grin made it past her lips. It was weirdly satisfying to know he had been nervous because it meant he had been worried about the prospect of not being with her forever. It had always been her plan to say yes, but still. 

Harry chuckled again, his chest rumbling beneath her head "Yes, darling, I did know that." His hand slid under her chin, gently lifting her head to meet his gaze. How much he loved her was visible in his eyes. She’d never experienced visibly seeing love before him. 

"But that didn't stop me from being nervous. I was just so… desperate for you to say yes, to be mine forever. The thought of even a moment of hesitation..."

He shuddered slightly and his grip on her tightened ever so slightly "It would've killed me."

“Oh, baby.” She cooed, deciding to baby him a little bit. Hearing that vulnerability really did something to her, tangling her fingers into the hair at his nape. “I’ve been yours since you first kissed me. Y’know that?” Y/N had been completely smitten. It was borderline concerning until she had realized he felt the same. “I had the biggest crush on you when we first met. You only continue to get better and better every day.” 

Tossing her leg over her hip, she relaxed into his hold as she gazed over his pretty face. He’d let his stubble grow out a bit, albeit a bit patchy- the look suited him. “You’ve been my husband in my head for a long time. I don’t think I could have ever said no.”

Harry's heart skipped a beat as she spoke. He had always loved it when she got like this, all soft and gentle and sweet on him. It was hard not to be greedy for this sort of affection. The feeling of her tangling her fingers in his hair combined with the press of her body against his had a shiver running down his spine.

"S’That so?" He purred, his voice making her squirm. "Because you’ve been mine since the moment I saw you, darling. You were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen in my life, and I knew I had to have you. You belong with me, you always have."

The slight possessive speak made her throat thicken, tummy warm, between her thighs throb a little bit. The tenderness in which he spoke had her melting and it had nothing to do with the beachy heat. This was exactly why she knew she had made the perfect choice with him.  Her body knew it was him before her head even did. Her heart? Even before that. “Yeah? I’m yours?” She cooed, brushing her nose against his.

Harry groaned softly as she brushed her nose against his, his eyes falling half-lidded. "Mmm, yeah. You are. You're mine. All mine."

His voice was a low rumble, his grip on her tightening as he spoke. "No one else will ever touch you, darling. You belong to me. I won't ever share you, no part of you is for anyone else but me."

Y/N let out a breathy gasp as his hand skipped over her ass, under the bikini bottom’s to hold bare skin. The flesh was squeezed, heat spreading between her legs as the little grab only managed to make it worse. She couldn’t control it even if she tried. 

“H! There are people around.” She squealed nervously, but didn’t move his hand. The people were far away, the beach not too crowded, but she had to say it. It wasn’t unlike him to grab a feel, but he had no intentions of moving his hand. The man had been insatiable since their wedding night with no sign of stopping. 

Harry gave her a sly simper as his hand squeezed her ass again, kneading lightly. He knew they were technically in public, and he didn't care in the slightest. It was more exciting this way, he loved the danger of being caught, the thrill of almost being seen… he was on his honeymoon with his wife. Nothing else mattered.

"I don't care, darling. They can't see us over here... Besides, we're on our honeymoon. We can do whatever we want." Licking his lower lip as he pulled her closer to him, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

"And right now, I want you."

“Baby…” Y/N’s voice went all syrupy and whimpery as his tongue ran over her jaw, teeth stopping to nibble at her skin. “You’re gonna get me wet. And I’m still a little sore from last night…” 

Her face flushed at the memory of him pounding into her, desperate proclamations of love being panted into the air as he fucked her over and over. That had been intense and her poor body hadn’t fully recovered, but it couldn’t help but react to him. She wasn’t saying no though because… she didn’t want to. A glutton for punishment, maybe, but she craved him. Body, mind and soul. 

Harry's breath hitched as she whimpered, the sound going straight to his already thickening cock. The thought of getting her all riled up here, of making her feel good while hidden away did little but work him up further. Y/N had a master key to his body and just the tiniest noise, movement of word could have him undone at any moment. 

“H…” she whined, feeling his hand slip between them. Finding her already wet, she could feel him groan into her neck as he pressed kisses over her throat. “H- fuck.” 

Her pants did nothing to deter him. The slick sound of his fingers rubbing through her slit before finding her swollen clit was the loudest thing she could hear, over the music in the distance and the crashing waves. “God.. you’re so bad.” And it felt so good.

Her husband’s lips curled up in a lazy grin as his fingers slid effortlessly through the wetness of her cunt. He could hear her gasping quietly with every touch, and he knew she was desperately trying to keep it together. It was his job to undo her. "You love it when I'm bad, darling." He taunted, nipping at her neck. With a voice low and needy he continued whispering in her ear.  "See.. I think you love it when I'm naughty. Think that you want me to touch you, to slip my fingers over your needy cunt and make you feel good. Y’want that, don’t you baby?” 

Her eyes fluttered shut as she leaned her head back, letting his mouth mark up her throat. It felt too good to stop him, and her body was aching for it. This was what a honeymoon was for. Wasn’t it?  

“Uh-huh.” She nodded. There was no use protesting when this was what she wanted anyway. “Just be gentle, please.” 

Harry hummed in agreement, his fingers still gently teasing her as he continued to mark up her throat. 

"Don't worry, baby, I'll be gentle. I'll take care of you, just like I always do." His free hand came up to cup her cheek, guiding her face up to look him in the eyes. 

"Just relax, my sweet girl, and let me make you feel good."

Her shaky breathing was only made worse as he made her look him in the eye as he pleasured her. The slick movement of his fingertips where she was swollen from his constant licking and rubbing and sucking had her head swimming, sensitive from the use she had been experiencing- but god, did she love it. 

She knew he was feeling even more worked up now that she was his wife officially, and he was letting her feel that. “You always make me feel s-so good.”

Harry's groan caught in his throat as he watched her, her eyes half-lidded and hazy with pleasure. He fucking loved seeing her like this, all flushed and breathless because of him. His fingers toyed with her still, slow and gentle as he tried to make himself wait. "Good, because I love making you feel good… S’my favorite thing."

He pressed a few kisses to her cheek, his nose skimming over her skin as he moved to whisper into her ear. It sent shivers over her body, hard to keep herself from losing it as he touched her, practiced and knowing exactly where to taunt.

"You're so damn perfect, darling. My perfect, pretty little wife, letting me do filthy things to you. Love you so much."

Her hips rocked in time with his fingers, eyes closing for a moment as he kissed her neck again before whispering in her ear. When he gripped her chin again, he made her watch his face as he slowly sunk a finger into her. It wasn’t difficult given how soaking wet her poor pussy was, but she still felt the stretch. It was hard not to when they were that thick. 

A high pitched whine was cut off as she bit her lip, face contorting slightly as she felt him begin to move it. “It’s not f-fair, how easily you can… you can make me feel crazy.”

Harry hummed as he watched her face twist with pleasure, his finger still lazily pumping in and out of her. Feeling the walls clench around him and slick up his finger, he couldn’t get enough of her.  "Mmm, I know, darling. I know everything that drives you insane. I know all your sensitive spots, where you like to be touched, how you like it when I talk dirty to you..."

 Leaning in and biting down gently on her earlobe, his voice a deep murmur in her ear. "And I love that I'm the only one who knows those things."

“Mhm, the only one. You’re the only one.” She agreed vehemently. The pleasure was smooth and slow, building up as the slick sound of his finger being inside of her made it even more hot. “And you’re the only one who’s gonna put a baby in me too.” 

Y/N knew just how crazy that sort of talk made him, discovered it not too long ago, and she was aware she was playing with fire. She knew that, and yet she continued. 

Harry let out a deep, loud groan at her words, the sound almost feral. If anyone was nearby it would give them away, but he frankly didn’t give a fuck. He loved it when she talked like that, so shameless and filthy. Meeting him where he was at. It was no secret that he had been on a mission this trip, but Y/N knew what she did to him when she brought it up. His free hand dug into her cheek, gripping her tightly as his finger curved inside her, pressing into the slick, spongy walls. 

"Yeah? You want me t’get you pregnant, little darling?" His breath came out in huffed pants as his control started to slip a little. A button being pushed, almost all the way down. “Want me t’knock you up? Think we should try again… If you want that.” The memory of him pulling his cock out to watch the creamy mix slip out of her cunt before pushing back in to keep some plugged up into her the night prior came rushing back. 

That was exactly what he was craving. 

“Yeah, I want to… I want you to do it on this trip. Please? Wanna make you a daddy.” She keened, knowing they had little time at the beach left. He was going to lose control soon, and that had been her quickly executed plan.

Harry's control completely snapped at her words. He let out a low, guttural moan, his grip on her cheek firm as he laid a deep kiss on her mouth, licking into it and feeling her desperate kiss returned before he pulled back with a grunt and wet lips. She was ethereal, even in filthy situations like this. With beachy hair and bleary eyes, swollen mouth and the golden glow of the setting sun on her skin. Every day, every moment served as a reminder as to why he was so lucky to have her.

“God, you drive me fucking insane, darling. Y’know exactly what to say to get me all worked up, huh?" It was clear he couldn’t take it anymore. Y/N had hit her intended target, and he couldn’t be out here any longer because he would definitely get caught with a public indecency charge. Fingering was one thing, but the things he wanted to do to her? They needed privacy. 

He withdrew his finger, his voice a gruff whisper as he spoke into her ear. "Get up. Now.” 

A cry of loss left her swollen lips as he stood up, not caring at all about the bulge in his pants. He grabbed the beach bag, tossing it over his arm and surprised her as he tossed her over his shoulder too. 

“Harry!” She squealed. “H- oh my god. You caveman!” He walked towards the villa with her tossed over his shoulder, like she weighed nothing. Like the blatant show of strength wouldn’t make her even more aroused. 

Her husband chuckled at her protest, his hand coming down across her ass to give her a sharp smack. "Hush, wife. I said I'd take care of you, and that's exactly what I'm doing."

[gardens-light]

Opposites Attract

Unlike his friend, D16 often kept his head down and followed protocol. Going through his usual routine one cycle after another, only stepping out of his normality whenever Orion Pax needed to be pulled out of trouble. Yet... he'd be lying, if he ever said his optics never occasionally drifted towards the one thing he's wanted. You. The High Guard that had stolen his spark, who's beauty could only be compared to the sparkling towers of Iacon. Something he could never touch and never to keep. For he accepted the fact you both were from different worlds. Something that not even one of the 'great plans' of Orion Pax could change... right...?

Content: D16/Megatron TFO x F/Cybertronian Reader. Fluff.

Toiling away under the flickering lights and constant hum of machinery. The cavernous walls of the mine glittered with the veins of energon, their iridescent glow faintly illuminating the surroundings.

As the others grinded away at the seams of energon, Orion Pax's gaze flickered up at D16, noticing the distracted expression upon his faceplate.

"Hey D. You ok?"

Startled and snapping out of his daze, D16 briefly looked over his shoulder. "Huh? Oh- yeah, yeah. I'm fine." he replied dismissively, casually returning his blank gaze back to the task at hand.

"You know I've got your back. Right...?"

"I know, I know you do, Orion. It's just... it's nothing. Really."

Orion lowered his tools, placing a hand on D16's shoulder as his movements became a bit more forceful, as if he was trying to take out his frustration on the cave walls.

Stiffening under his friend's touch, finally taking a moment of pause as he met Orion's concerned gaze.

"It's just... it's stupid. I honestly don't know why I'm even bothered by it." A heavy sigh escaped D16's lips, dropping his tools and leaning against the rocky wall behind him. "I... bumped into someone this morning before shift. It was a little thing really, but the simple shock of it... the shock of realizing who it was... I-I've never seen her in person before, only from the holos, but... Primus, Orion. She was... perfect!"

"Don't give me that look." He groaned, seeing the faint smile tugging on Orion's faceplate. "It's not like I have a chance with her. There's no universe where she'd be slightest bit of interested in some lowly mech like me-"

"C'mon D... don't be like that-"

"Why shouldn't I? It's the truth and you know it." D16 pushed himself off the wall and resumed his work. Wielding his tools with more force than necessary. The sharp ringing of metal against stone echoed throughout the cavern.

"Because there's gotta be more to life than just... this!" Orion protested, gesturing to their surroundings. "Don't you want to try and be more than what we're 'supposed' to be?-"

"What else are we supposed to be, then?!" D16 scowled, swinging his tool once more, causing a shower of sparks to fly up. The glow of the energon-flecked rock reflected off the planes of his face, casting deep shadows under his optics. For a brief moment, the harsh environment seemed to aged his otherwise youthful features. "We're miners! Built for this! Just because you have grand dreams and aspirations, doesn't mean the rest of us do!"

Orion flinched, pausing for moment before finding his voice again. "You're... not seriously gonna just admire this femme from afar...? I-I've seen the way you look at her. You adore her!-"

"It doesn't matter, Orion. She's far beyond me. I'm... just a simple miner, and she's a High Guard. There's no point in even entertaining the thought that I could ever... be with her."

"Why not? Who says you couldn't? You're just as good as any mech!-"

"Oh yeah! I'm sure she'd be enthralled by my rugged charm and the coal dust that's constantly clinging to my frame!" D16 bitterly laughed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I bet she'd swoon over the grease stains on my servos. And of course, the highlight! My endless stories of energon extraction- it just gets the femmes going every time! Clearly!"

Grinding away at the cavern wall, using the repetitive motion of his tools against the stone to distract him from the thoughts spinning through his processor. The dull ache in D16's servos felt like a welcomed relief compared to the turmoil in his spark. A small thorn of guilt pricked at his circuits, as he caught Orion's somber expression within the corner of his optic.

Both fell into a tense silence, the only sound of steady rhythmic clang of metal on stone dragging out till the end of their long shift.

---

Eventually the twelfth hour came to an end, D16 and Orion headed to the nearest exit along with their fellow miners. Grimy from the day's work, their servos stained and joins sore from exertion. D16 stretches lazily, trying to work out the kinks in his wiring, rolling his neck and shoulders as he walked beside Orion.

Raising an optic ridge, following his friend's gaze. D16's spark practically stutters when he spots you not far in the distance. A sweet smile framing your lips, as you spoke to another High Guard, your polished form standing out against the dingy backdrop of the mining station. D16's spark pulsed within it's chamber, sending zaps of electricity throughout his circuits, as if you're a magnet drawing him in. As you turned away from your fellow High Guard, the silver miner quickly avoided eye contact, secretly hoping you didn't notice him as he stared at the floor.

Hiding his mischievous smile, Orion slowed his pace a little. His gaze stubley peering up at you every so often, as the gap between you and his friend gradually closes. Secretly positioning himself slightly behind you, Orion quickly pushed you into D16.

His optics widen as you came crashing down on top of him, your sudden weight causing him to lose balance and fall onto his back with a surprised 'oof.'

"H-Hey! Watch where you're..." oh... Primus...

Subtle warmth slowly raised beneath his faceplates, as passers by raised an optic ridge at your... rather compromising position. Your tall yet slender frame caging D16 beneath you, while his servos hovered awkwardly above your waist.

"Ow..."

A jolt of electricity shot through him, a gasp slipping past his lips as your weight shifted onto his legs, straddling his lap. His servos itched towards your thighs, his amber optics watching the grime and dirt rub off onto your otherwise flawless paintwork. Quickly glancing up at you with an apologetic expression, as your optics flickered open.

"By the AllSpark! Are you ok?" your melody tone was filled with concern, as your soft gaze met his. "I-I honestly don't know what happened."

Taking a moment to collect himself, D16's servos involuntary slowly slid up and down your thighs. "I'm... I'm fine. No harm done... are you alright?"

A subtle heat rose to your faceplates, making them warm to the touch, as your optics flickered down at your thighs. Feeling the miner's calloused servos subconsciously caress your sooth metal.

Following your shy gaze, embarrassment flushed across D16's features. Quickly pulling his servos away and scrambling to sit up properly, his chassis brushing against yours. His optics nervously darting around, attempting to avoid your gaze while his spark wildly pulsed within its chamber.

Both raising onto your peds, and after a brief moment of hesitation. The miner's gaze slowly trailed up your form, as you brushed off the coal dust and grime.

"Primus... s-sorry about that." A pang of guilt struck his inner-circuits, while D16 fussed over you. His spark skipping a beat as you gave him a sweet smile. The warmth of your body made his processor go all fuzzy, not being able to string a single thought.

"Thank you-"

"D! There you are! I've been looking for you." Orion's cheerful voice interrupted. Pulling his usual warm smile, ignoring his friend's annoyed glare as Orion wrapped an arm around D16's shoulders. "Please forgive my clumsy friend, ma'am. If you'll allow it, he'd would like to properly apologize for this whole inconvenience. Perhaps over some energon? His treat, of course."

What?! D16's optics widened, as his glare narrowed onto his friend. For sparks sake, Orion! Now isn't the time to conjure up one of your 'master plans!'

You held up your servos. "Oh... that's very sweet. But he doesn't-"

"Nonsense. He insists. Right, buddy?"

Not wanting to bring anymore attention, than Orion already did. D16 slowly nodded, as an irritated huff escaped him.

His optics flickered towards you, as your sweet chuckles came to his audio receivers. Clearly finding somewhat some form of amusement, as the miner obviously looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

"Very well... if he insists. U-Um... when?"

"How about this evening?" Orion's smile widened, clapping a hand upon D16's shoulder, who subtly cringed under his friend's touch. "D knows a great energon bar down the way, The Cranked Gear. Very laid-back atmosphere, perfect for a casual... meeting."

The warmth beneath D16's plates rose, as he caught a glimpse of your sweet smile. Your soft gaze roaming over his frame, "sounds great. See you later... D."

"What. The. Fragg was that?!" the silver miner snapped once you were out of earshot. A mixture of disbelief and frustration etched into his faceplates, "you set me up!"

"Hey... I was just trying to help." Orion held up his servos in surrender. "Plus, it proves you have a chance with her-"

"Are you kidding me? There's no chance!" D16 threw his servos up in exasperation, his inner-circuits coiling with tension. "She's a High Guard. I'm a cogless miner-bot. We're practically from different worlds! What am I supposed to do? Just sit there and make a fool of myself?"

A weak smile came to Orion, shrugging as he tried to give D16 some form of reassurance. "From... what I've heard. You kinda just... sit there and talk when you're on a date."

"Gee, thanks for the helpful advice." D16 frowned, his tone dripping in sarcasm. "I'll just sit there and chat about the weather and my thrilling work in energon extraction." A low groan escaped his lips, while pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't know why or how I let you talk me into things, y'know..." This is gonna be a disaster.

Later That Evening

Rocking upon his heels, shifting nervously from pede to pede. A subtle hopeful expression etched upon his features, as D16 glanced around for you.

No sign of her yet...

Taking a deep breath, trying to steady his spark and nerves. While his processor ran through potential conversation topics, attempting to prepare something interesting to say. A sigh escaping his lips, as D16 looked down at himself, suddenly hyper-aware of his frame. His rough, dull plating starkly stood out against the sleek finish of the other mechs in the vicinity.

Hopefully... she's not too put off by my rough exterior-

"Good evening... hopefully you haven't been waiting long."

Your soft tone snapped him out of his thoughts, his wide eyed stare roaming over your newly polished figure. "No! Uh, I mean... no. I just got here... you look..."

"What...?" you quickly looked down at yourself. Examining particular spots over your frame, "do I still have coal dust on me or something?"

"No! No! You look good. Great, even. Better than great!" fragging idiot. "Um... shall we...?"

Giving him a brief smile, you followed D16's lead into the bar. Sunken ceiling lights lit the area with a warm, gentle hue. The atmosphere bustling with chatter and laughter. Making your way through the clutter of tables and chairs, D16 could practically feel the surprised and confused expressions of the patrons, as they took in your presence.

He knew that the pair of you must make quite the duo, a miner and a High Guard. While guiding the way through the bar, his optics narrowed onto the nearest bots, silently daring them to say something. Leading you to a more secluded booth in the far corner, the lights became slightly more dim, creating more intimate feel. While the patrons chatter reduced to lulled muffle.

Your smile slightly widened, as D16 pulled out a seat for you. Politely waiting til you were settled before taking a seat opposite you.

"So... uh... how was your day?" his voice was uncharacteristically low, while his digits anxiously fidgeted wit the edge of the table. Seriously? That's the best you can come up with? Come on!

"Um... alright. Nothing out of the ordinary."

The awkward tension slowly eased into the space between you, as D16's processor scrambled for a new topic.

"That's good... My shift down in the mines was pretty normal. Just the... usual amount of ore. No issues with the equipment- well, one drill malfunctioned. But we fixed it quick enough."

D16's spark nervously pulsed through his wires, as you flashed him a weak smile. Replying with a simple nod, "oh... um, sounds... eventful? Would you... like to order some energon?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sure. I, uh, should probably warn you though. The stuff they serve here isn't exactly the most refined. It's... got a kind of a bite to it."

After answering with shrug, D16 took the cue to approach the nearby bar. The bartender passed him the drinks with a knowing glance, only to be greeted with the miner's glare in return. Knowing full well that the whole bar was undoubtedly watching him, make his way back to you.

Settling himself back into his seat, carefully sliding your drink towards you. As he took a sip from his own, the smooth taste a momentary distraction from the awkward tension.

Noticing your half-hearted smile, a pang of guilt thumped within his spark. This a complete fragging diseater! Why can't I say anything? I can practically feel this whole thing already crashing and burning in front of me!-

"What's... that on your shoulder?"

"Huh?" D16 followed your gaze, briefly noticing you pausing from your drink. A subtle warmth radiated beneath his faceplates as embarrassment swept through his frame. "Oh, uh, that's just... a sticker. My friend, Orion put it there a while ago, and I... forgot to remove it-"

"Oh no. Don't remove it." The tone of your voice peaked a little, as your gaze softened. Admiring the sticker's holographic shine. "It looks good on you. You should see my stasis pod in my private quarters."

A shy smile lit up his features, as D16's spark fluttered within it's chamber. "Y-You... you think so? I, uh... I appreciate that. And... what's on your stasis pod?"

"My favorite, Solus Prime. But I promise it's only a small sticker."

"Ah, a Solus fan, eh?" a small chuckle escaped his lips. Optics shining with a glimmer of amusement. "Not too shabby. Can't blame you, she was a badass warrior. And... only a small sticker, you say?"

Holding up your servo, almost pinching the air between your thumb and index digit. "This small. Nothing too crazy."

"Oh, phew." A light laugh escaped his lips, as D16 mockly wiped an invisible bead of condensation upon his forehelm. "I was worried you had her face on a full sized wall mural. But just a little sticker? That's much more reasonable."

Your sweet chuckles rung through the air between the pair of you, like a sweet melody. Lifting the awkwardness that lingered before, finally giving him the chance to actually feel connected with you.

Feeling a bit more emboldened, D16 continued. "Seriously. Solus is a solid choice. But I'd have to go with Megatronus, personally."

Raising an optic ridge, while tilting your helm to the side. "What draws to you him?"

Leaning back in his seat, a look of admiration sparkled within his optics. "Well, apart from being the most fearsome warrior in Cybertron's history. He was also a brilliant strategist! He could take on any opponent and come out on top! Plus, he's just... so incredibly powerful. Unstoppable really! I guess I've... always looked up to him for that kind of strength."

A small smile teased the corner of your lips, trying to hide it behind your cup. "That's very true. I gotta admit that he's a total badass."

"Oh. He's definitely a badass! I remember reading tales about his battles against the Quintessons, and let me tell you. They're the stuff of legend! He could take on an entire army by himself and come out with nothing but a scratch."

"Careful." Your teasing tone purred. "Your fanboy is showing."

The warmth beneath his faceplates grow even more, as embarrassment crept back into his frame. Clearing his vocal processor, attempting to return to his usual demeanor while his spark skipped a beat. "What? I'm just stating facts."

Taking the last sip from your drink, your soft gaze trailed down his chassis. D16 subconsciously shifts his body, covering his cogless chamber. His spark pulsing more, avoiding your gaze while taking another mouthful of his drink.

A lull ache pulsed throughout your frame, guilt jabbing your at your spark. "Forgive me... I-I shouldn't have starred-"

"It's... It's fine." The lull ache within you begun to painfully prick at your spark, as D16's words held a more rougher edge than he intended. "You were just curious. I don't blame you."

A subtle blanket of awkward silence slowly crept back into the air, as hesitation temporarily stole your words. A flicker of surprise flashed within D16's optics, as his soft gaze noticed your servo edging closer to him across the table. Breath almost got stuck in his vents as he met your optics, the colour shining with genuine curiosity and a hint of compassion.

The question swirling within your processor, softly escaped your lips in just above a whisper. "Can I...?"

Answering with a simple nod. D16 flinched slightly as you touched his cogless chamber, as if bracing himself for judgement or ridicule. Yet your expression remained soft, a hint of... affection? Flickering within your optics. As your digits gently traced the otter rim of his circular chamber, a strange sense of comfort washed over him. The gesture surprisingly tender, as he found himself relaxing under your touch.

"It's... It's a pretty pathetic sight... isn't it?"

Another prang of guilt pulsed throughout your inner-circuits, as you picked up the subtle shame hiding within D16's words. "What? No! No, of course not. Just... different..."

"Different? That's one way to put it." D16's tone held a bitter edge, while a scoff escaped him. "I mean... look at me. A cogless miner bot. I'm a pathetic excuse for a Cybertronian."

Great... Hanging his head low, a heavy sigh escaped him. Why did you steer the conversation in that direction? You idiot!-

Crunch!

Snap!

D16's optics widened as he witnessed you tear away a small section of your forearm. His puzzled gaze flickering to the soft smile upon your lips, your optics shining with kindness as an idea crossed your processor.

"Wait! What are you doing?-"

Your soft smile, sweetened as you leaned back in your seat. Purposely positioning yourself just out of his reach, while you worked on the scrap piece of metal. Only taking a few moments to flatten it, using the table's edge to smooth and round off the edges, before holding up the now makeshift disk for inspection.

"I... know it's not real." D16's spark fluttered within his chassis, as his wide optics met your loving gaze. His breath hitching as you reached across the table, placing the makeshift disk into his empty cog chamber. "But maybe... a part of me could be... your 'cog?'"

Staring down at the makeshift 'cog' which now rested in the chamber, a hopeful pulse beat through your inner circuits as your spark skipped.

For a moment, he couldn't find the words to express the swirling emotions within his spark. Surprise, gratitude, affection... They all crashed together in a wonderful mess.

"I-I... I don't know what to say. This is..." D16 slowly placed a servo over his cog chamber, feeling the shape of his new 'cog' inside.

The act itself wasn't just incredibly kind but... surprisingly intimate. The fact that you would willingly give up a part of yourself for him. To make him feel more... complete.

I-I... would never believed... never have imagined...

H-Have I... overstepped somehow? You nervously swallowed a lump in your vocal processor. Was it too much?

But the invisible tug upon the corners of his lips, was enough to slowly calm your racing spark. For he couldn't help but stare at you in quiet awe, as D16's processor still reel from your act. He gently reached a servo across the table, resting it atop your own. A silent gesture of gratitude and affection, while his optics met yours.

"Th-This... was unexpected- wonderful! Thoughtful! But just... unexpected..." he lowly spoke. "How could I ever thank you?"

"Well..." your sweet smile turned slightly flirty, as your thumb caressed D16's knuckles. "Maybe... you could demonstrate your strength to me? I... heard miners are strong."

D16's faceplates heats up at your flirtatious tone, a rush of nervous excitement tingles pulsed throughout his frame.

"O-Oh..." his amber optics glanced around the bar, making sure nobody was eavesdropping as he returned your smile. "And... how would you like me to demonstrate that? Perhaps somewhere more... private?"

Butterflies entangled your wires, as D16's servo took yours in a slightly tighter grip. "Where did you have in mind?"

His breath hitched a little, feeling you checking him out. The touch of your servo beneath his sent a shiver through his circuits. Gradual confidence filled his spark, as he leaned in a bit further, his voice dropping to a low, sultry tone. "I know a secluded spot not too far from here. It'll give us all the privacy we need for a... rigorous demonstration."

"Sounds perfect."

D16 gives you a sly smile, his frame buzzing with anticipation as you softly bit your bottom lip. Sliding out of the booth, his optics meeting yours. Extending a servo out to you, a silent offer to follow him. "This way gorgeous."

[paperultra]

back of house.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1,113 words Warnings: Mild swearing

If it weren’t for his principles regarding women, you’re fairly certain Sanji would’ve throttled and strung you up to dry by now.

“I … I’m impressed, sweetheart,” he says with a bright smile, though under the swinging lights of the kitchen it seems more out of pain than pleasure. “You managed to burn water.”

Your cheeks flame as you peer into the blackened pot with him, all traces of the water you’d been tasked with boiling completely gone. Vanished. You have no idea how or why.

“I’m sorry, Sanji.”

“No need to apologize. Everybody makes mistakes –”

“Sanji!” you hear Zeff before you see him round the corner. “Why the hell do I smell something burning in my kitchen?”

“None of your business, old man,” Sanji snaps immediately, murmuring a quiet excuse me, dear to you before taking the pot by the handle and heading to the sink. He twists the faucet open and running water roars like thunder in your ears as he thrusts the pot underneath. “I have it under control.”

“Under control, eh?" Zeff says. He suddenly turns his squinted gaze upon you, and you shrivel. “This your doing, missy?”

“I –”

“Leave her alone,” Sanji interrupts. “I didn’t give clear enough instructions. It was my fault.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that.” Eyeing your guilty and defeated figure next to the stove, Zeff shakes his head with a sigh and points you to the door. “[Y/n], go out and wait tables for the rest of your shift.”

Immediately, you make a move to remove your apron. “Oka –”

Sanji makes a noise of dissent and turns the faucet off. “Wait tables? She can still chop the vegetables and help me plate.”

“You’ll do that yourself. Front of house needs the extra person, anyway.”

“I’m her mentor.”

“And I’m the damn boss.”

The rest of the staff roll their eyes and carry on while the two men argue in the middle of the kitchen. You swallow and take your apron off, balling it up in your hands. This isn’t the first time they’ve butted heads over your incompetence, and watching them now cuts at your last shred of dignity.

Clearing your throat, you grimace when Sanji’s head whips around to look at you.

“Zeff’s right,” you tell him. “Dinner rush is coming up soon and I’ll just be in the way, anyway.”

Zeff grunts with satisfaction.

The expression on Sanji’s face reminds you of a kicked puppy. “But …” he begins to protest.

“Oi, you heard what she said. Get back to work! We have customers waiting!”

Sanji blusters about before heading back to his station, casting you one final, forlorn look as he does so. You imagine that your own face looks just the same when you turn to leave.

—

You take orders and serve customers for the remainder of the day, as promised, and help with cleanup after closing time. And then, long after the sun’s dipped below the horizon, Sanji joins you on the upper deck with a steaming bowl of seafood fried rice.

“For the madam,” he says with a smile, offering you the bowl.

You accept it silently and take a bite as he sits down next to you. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach. You’ve never known a home quite like Sanji’s cooking.

His eyes remain fixed on you as you eat all of the rice, scraping the bowl for every last grain and setting it down beside you once you’re finished.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I figured it would cheer you up.”

“It did.”

It did, and yet, your lips tremble and your throat closes up. You clench your hands into fists in your lap.

Sanji’s hand immediately presses your shoulder as you sniffle. “Are you alright?” he questions worriedly.

(His attentiveness strikes you like a hot iron sometimes, even now.)

“Why haven’t you given up on me yet?” you whisper.

His brow furrows. As if it’s obvious, he answers, “You want to be a cook. A lady’s wish is my command.” Sanji pauses. “And I can’t call myself the greatest cook in the East Blue if I can’t teach others to be great cooks as well.”

“I think you’d be the greatest regardless.”

You glance at him through watery eyes in time to see his face flush a deep red. He looks away hastily, chuckling with feigned modesty. “I’m flattered that you think so highly of me.”

Your shoulders lift in a shrug as you look back down at your hands. You reach up to blot away your tears.

How could you not think the world of Sanji? Or the world of anyone at the Baratie, for that matter? When you were kicked off the merchant ship you’d stowed away on two years ago, you had been sure that you’d be banned from setting foot in such a fine-looking restaurant. Years of scorn and slammed doors had not given you the chance to think otherwise.

But Sanji spotted you on the docks, called you madam like you really were one, cooked you a meal in the kitchen and talked to you. Zeff gave you a job and a bed of your own. The staff gave you a family.

“We’ll try again tomorrow. I’ll figure out something that’ll make everything click for you, and you’ll be a proper cook in no time.” Sanji leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and winks up at you. “I promise.”

As always, your heart skips a beat.

“Okay.”

Maybe, you realize suddenly, you don’t necessarily want to be a cook so much as you want to love the way Sanji does.

“That’s my girl.” Standing up, Sanji takes your empty bowl in one hand and offers the other for you to take. “Now, shall I walk the madam to her room, or does she wish to stay out on the deck for a while?”

You allow yourself to grin, considering. “The madam wishes to stay out here and …” you hesitate but then decide to soldier on, “and possibly chat with a dear friend for a few more minutes?”

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

Sanji’s eyes widen a bit. Then he blinks, and then he smiles, drawing his hand back and quickly sitting down next to you once more.

“A lady’s wish is my command,” he says.

He takes out a cigarette, making a quip about Patty while he lights it, and your combined laughter rings out across the Baratie. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach.

Indeed, this is home.

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #11

It's an innocent ("please," Jason sneers, "there's nothing innocent about a plagiaristic propaganda machine encouraging minors to dance for sick ol' pervs while it spews misogynistic hate speech.'"

"okay, boomer,"

"the fuck did you just call me, replacement?") TikTok, one of those ones that kind of simmers in the background for a few weeks until someone with a decent enough following posts it on the Platform Formerly Known as Twitter and from there it seriously catches traction, blowing up until Tim knocks on Bruce's office door, phone in hand. Damian stands behind him, arms crossed and clearly simmering.

Bruce, fresh off a series of zoom conferences, raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, so you haven't seen it," Tim decides, striding forward.

Bruce's eyebrow jumps a smidge higher, on the edge of concern, as Tim thrusts his phone into his grasp.

"So," he begins, reaching over to refresh the mobile page "there's a video that's been making the rounds on Twitter and—well you should probably see it," He sighs over Damian's scoff as he clicks through the pop-up asking him to sign in or join TikTok, and presses "Watch Again", unmuting the video.

🎶 "Doo, badoo-badoo-badoo Badoo-badoo-badoo-badoo,"🎶 an upbeat background song hums as someone, presumably a student, films a school hallway with their phone. They walk past students talking near their lockers, some of whom flash peace signs and silly grins as the camera swings their way before continuing on.

But the main point Bruce gets stuck on is the all lowercase white text at the center of the screen that an automated woman's voice awkwardly narrates:

"when you go to school with bruce wayne's other long lost lovechild"

The student filming comes up behind a much taller student who faces away from him, in conversation with a black haired pale teenaged girl. She spots the cameraman and shoots him a confused, disgruntled look, saying something to the boy who then turns around.

Bruce quietly observes as the camera zooms in on a boy around Tim's page, possibly older. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a strong jaw, he raises an eyebrow at the one filming, looking beyond the camera, pitch black hair with blue undertones falling into his blue eyes. The camera momentarily zooms too far into those eyes then abruptly pulls back as he quirks a puzzled smile at the viewer, mouthing out an easily understandable "hi?".

The TikTok ends and seamlessly transitions to a person balancing their cat on an exercise ball with minimal success and this time Bruce presses the Watch Again button. The heart on the right side claims 750k likes.

Damian scoffs, louder, as it ends. "Clearly it is a hoax, but it has been popular among my classmates."

"The board hasn't made much noise about it—" Tim starts.

"And they won't," Bruce says, lifting his eyes from his phone. "Wayne Industries doesn't give statements on videos like these, no matter how viral they become. I've been getting lovechild claims since before I adopted Dick."

Which Tim knows, which is why his insistence on showing Bruce this one raises his hackles. He pins Tim down with a stare and despite Tim's perfected PR mask, he can see Tim is unsettled.

"B...he really, really looks like you." Tim admits. Damian scoffs for a third time and Tim shoots him a glare, "I get it, you don't see it, but you haven't seen the pictures of Bruce when he was younger."

"I don't need to!" Damian says angrily. "You're all being ridiculous!"

"All?" Bruce asks. Tim shifts awkwardly. "The family group chat has been talking," he says.

"I see," Bruce says. Because he does. Many claim Damian to be his doppelganger, but the boy actually favors Talia not just in skin tone but in the shape and color of his eyes, as well as the soft slope of her mouth and ears. Whether those features will sharpen once he goes through puberty is anyone's guess.

But this young man has Bruce's eyes. Martha's eyes.

That night they have a suspiciously full house for dinner, with even Jason dropping in, but no one says anything until Barbara wheels in for dessert, carrying a manila folder on her lap.

"What?" she says, when everyone stares. "Dick told me it was crème brûlée today!"

Bruce extends a hand wordlessly, and Barbara sheepishly hands the folder over.

"Bruce," she says, before he can open it, "I wouldn't have looked into this normally, but,"

"Just say it," Jason says, leaning back in his chair. "Take away the gray hairs, the receding hairline, and the wrinkles and the kid's a dead match."

"Take it back, Todd," Damian growls, "Father has a very full head of hair!"

"Not to mention a failed track record at keeping it in his pants, Exhibit A," Jason continues, pointing a fork at Damian, "oh wait," he says gleefully, "kid is definitely 18, so I guess that would make you Exhibit B!"

The table erupts, cutlery tinkling as Damian gets a knee up on the table to hurl himself at a cackling Todd, Dick jumping up to grab him as the others lean out of the way—

"Ahem!" Everyone stops cold as Alfred stands in the doorway, porcelain ramekins of crème brûlée stacked perfectly on a silver tray. Under his gaze, everyone sits back down, Damian and Jason both quietly uttering a "Sorry Alfie/Alfred," as they straighten up.

Bruce is oblivious to the chaos, Barbara biting her lip beside him as he stares blankly inside the folder at the printed copy of an adoption certificate.

Two days and several million likes later, another TikTok goes viral from the same user. Caught in the moment as whoever is filming runs up to the group, the same young man is chatting with a blonde in a red letterman jacket, a partially formed crowd around them. Even with one leg still in the cafeteria table, he towers over everyone.

"—sh. Look, we're all possibly Bruce Wayne's son!" the boy snarks. He has his hands out, palms up as if he's making a great point, and as he looks around he catches sight of the cameraman and his smirk drops.

"Ah Mac, c'mon dude not again—" and the TikTok ends.

[joelsrose]

Good Neighbours: Chapter 3

previous chapter

Uncle Ray had been talking non-stop about something while you ate your breakfast, the sound of his animated voice filling the kitchen. You nodded occasionally, only half-listening as you focused on your plate.

Between bites of toast, you caught snippets about fishing gear, tents, and the best spots to pitch a campsite.

Last week he’d managed to convince you to spend the weekend camping by the lake—a prospect you weren’t exactly thrilled about.

But how could you say no? Ray had been nothing but kind to you, letting you stay with him while you figured out work and life.

A sudden knock at the door interrupted his monologue. "One sec," he said, setting his mug down and heading toward the front door.

You took the moment of quiet to exhale, picking at the crust of your toast. Then you heard it—Ray’s familiar greeting, but it was the name that made you freeze.

"Joel!"

Your heart skipped, and your cheeks burned as the memory of your last encounter came rushing back.

The towel. The awkwardness.

The fact that you’d practically fled the house afterward, muttering to Sarah about feeling sick, just to avoid seeing him again.

Now, here he was, just on the other side of the door.

Your ears strained as their conversation carried into the kitchen.

"You and Sarah decide to come camping with us?" Ray asked, his voice chipper.

Your head whipped toward the door. Camping? Joel?

"Nah," Joel replied, his voice as steady and smooth as ever. "Sarah’s got somethin’ on this weekend, but I’m free if you’ll have me."

Your stomach flipped. He’s coming?

"Perfect!" Ray said with enthusiasm. "I’ll send you the details, alright? Gonna be a good time—just like old times."

You stared down at your plate, your appetite suddenly vanishing as you tried to process this new development.

The thought of spending an entire weekend with Joel—tents, campfires, and all—made your pulse quicken in ways you weren’t sure you wanted to unpack.

Ray returned to the kitchen, grinning as he clapped his hands together. "Well, that’s settled! Joel’s joining us for the weekend."

"Great," you said, your voice higher than intended. You cleared your throat, willing your cheeks to cool. "Should be… fun."

Ray didn’t notice your sudden shift in demeanor, too busy rattling off plans for the trip.

But as you sat there, nodding absentmindedly, you couldn’t help but wonder how you were going to survive the weekend with Joel Miller in such close quarters.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

"Alright, we got…" Ray trailed off, listing a seemingly endless checklist of items as you stood by his truck, Joel beside you.

Joel had greeted you earlier, his tone warm and sweet as always, but you’d been quieter than usual, offering only a shy smile in return.

The memory of your last encounter still lingered in your mind, making it harder to meet his gaze without your cheeks warming.

Ray suddenly stopped mid-sentence, his expression twisting into one of realization. "Shit," he muttered, looking up abruptly.

Both you and Joel turned to him, eyebrows raised.

"What?" Joel asked, his voice calm but curious.

Ray scratched the back of his head, his brow furrowed. "Forgot the tent stakes."

Joel glanced toward the truck, then back to Ray. "I can run to the store and grab some."

"Nah," Ray said, shaking his head. "Got plenty at the shop. Just slipped my mind."

He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully before snapping his fingers. "I gotta swing by there anyway—got somethin’ to sort out real quick. Y’all go on ahead."

"Wait, what?" you said, blinking at him in surprise.

Ray waved a hand as if to brush off your concern. “You go with Joel. I’ll be right behind you. No sense in all of us sittin’ around when you can get there a bit ahead and start settin’ up.” He was already moving. “It’s a two-person job anyway.”

Your mouth opened to protest, but before you could say anything, Joel turned to you with an easy shrug.

"Sounds good to me," he said, his gaze steady as it met yours, a flicker of amusement playing at the corner of his lips when he noticed your expression.

You glanced between the two of them, feeling cornered. "Yeah, okay," you finally said, forcing a smile you hoped wasn’t too strained. "That’s fine."

"Perfect," Ray said, clapping his hands. "I’ll be right on your heels’."

Joel gave a small nod, tossing his keys into his palm as he motioned toward the truck. "C’mon," he said, his voice steady but carrying a teasing undertone that made your stomach flip.

As you turned, his hand tapped lightly against your lower back—not firm, but just enough to nudge you forward, a playful gesture that felt oddly intimate.

"Chop chop," he added, his tone carrying a smirk you didn’t need to see to feel.

Your steps faltered slightly, the unexpected touch making heat creep up your neck. "Alright, I’m moving," you muttered, trying to sound unbothered even as your pulse quickened.

As you climbed into the passenger seat, the realization of the situation hit you fully.

It was going to be just you and Joel, alone in the truck, heading to the campsite together.

And by the way he settled into the driver’s seat, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he adjusted the mirrors, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t entirely oblivious to the tension humming between you.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

The truck rumbled steadily along the open road, the low growl of the engine blending with the soft twang of an old country song drifting from the radio.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow across the rolling landscape, the light spilling through the windows in soft streaks.

Joel’s hands rested easily on the steering wheel, his fingers tapping absently to the rhythm of the music, the motion so unintentional yet somehow captivating.

You tried to focus on the scenery, letting your eyes trace the endless stretch of fields and trees as they blurred past. Or you pretended to scroll aimlessly on your phone, though your grip tightened every time the silence between you stretched a little too long.

About thirty minutes in, Joel glanced over at you, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "You always this quiet, sweetheart?"

You blinked, caught off guard, and quickly turned your head toward him. "What?"

"Been sittin’ here, waitin’ for you to say somethin’," he teased, his voice low and smooth, like he had all the time in the world. "Thought you might’ve fallen asleep on me."

"I—no, I’m just…" You trailed off, fumbling for a decent response under the weight of his gaze. "Taking in the view."

Joel chuckled softly, the sound warm and a little too knowing. "Uh-huh. That what you’re doin’? Seems to me like you’re avoidin’ lookin’ at me."

"I am not," you huffed, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, your voice carrying a hint of frustration—though more at yourself than at him.

Joel glanced over at you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Hmm," he drawled, his tone laced with amusement. "Seems to me like you ran off the other day."

You blushed remembering the compromising position you had been caught in.

Is he seriously bringing this up?!

"I didn’t run off," you said quickly, shifting in your seat. "I just… wasn’t feeling well."

"Is that right?" he murmured, his tone dripping with skepticism. He turned his eyes back to the road, but you didn’t miss the way his lips quirked, like he was fighting back a grin.

"Poor baby," he cooed, his voice dipping lower, soft and teasing.

You froze, your eyes trained on the car window, a scarlet tinge painting your cheeks.

"Or maybe," he continued, his tone slow and deliberate, "you just got a little… embarrassed."

Your head whipped back toward him, your brows furrowing. "What? Why would I be embarrassed?"

Joel shrugged, the movement casual, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes flicked over to you, sharp and knowing.

"I dunno," he said, feigning innocence. "Could’ve been the whole ‘caught-you-in-a-towel, dripping-all-over-my-kitchen-floor’ thing."

Your mouth dropped open, heat rushing to your face as you struggled to find a retort. "I—" you stammered, but nothing coherent came out.

Joel’s smirk deepened, and he gave a soft chuckle that was as maddening as it was alluring.

"C’mon now," he teased, his voice low and warm. "Ain’t nothin’ to be shy about, darlin’. Just thought it was funny how quick you bolted."

"I didn’t bolt," you snapped, though your voice was weak, your embarrassment only fueling his amusement.

Joel shook his head, his grin softening into something quieter, more thoughtful.

"Well, for what it’s worth," he said, his voice steady now, "I was makin’ pancakes for ya. Thought you might’ve stuck around long enough to try ‘em."

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. The teasing edge was still there, but it was gentler now, almost like he was giving you an out.

Joel glanced at you again, his eyes warm but still glinting with mischief.

"Guess I’ll have to make ‘em for ya another time," he said.

Then, with a smirk that made your heart trip over itself, he added, "But next time, maybe try not to run off. Deal?"

You bit your lip, torn between mortification and the flicker of something lighter in your chest. "Deal," you muttered, your cheeks still burning as you turned back to the window.

Joel chuckled softly, the sound warm and low, curling through the air like it was meant just for you. It tugged at the corner of your mouth, and despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile—just a little.

“Plus,” he said, taking a slow glance in the rearview mirror before shifting his gaze to you, “you’re pretty cute when you’re flustered.”

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

When you arrived at the campsite, the sight before you made you stop in your tracks. You weren’t much of a nature girl—that much was certain.

Cities had always been your preference, with their buzzing energy, brunch spots, and chic rooftop bars. But this… this was something else.

The lake stretched out like a sheet of glass, its surface catching the blue of the sky above. Surrounding it were towering trees that seemed to stand guard, their branches swaying softly as their leaves whispered secrets to the wind. The ground was a tapestry of earth and scattered pine needles, dappled with shadows from the sunlight breaking through the canopy above.

The air was cool and crisp, brushing against your skin with the kind of freshness you didn’t realize you’d been craving. It carried the subtle, grounding scents of pine and damp earth, mingling with the faint, refreshing tang of lake water.

Somewhere in the distance, the soft chirp of crickets began to fill the quiet, a sound that seemed to amplify the stillness.

“Wow,” you murmured, unable to tear your eyes away.

Joel was already unloading the truck, you couldn’t help but glance over, your eyes catching on the way his broad shoulders shifted as he lifted a heavy pack from the bed.

The fabric of his t-shirt stretched across his back, damp in places where the heat of the day had taken its toll, clinging in a way that left little to the imagination.

His arms flexed as he slung the pack over one shoulder, the muscles in his forearms tightening as he adjusted the straps with practiced ease.

His hair was messy, a little damp from the heat, and as he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, you couldn’t help but notice the way his lips parted, exhaling a quiet sigh.

"You just gonna stand there or give me a hand?" Joel teased, his voice breaking through your thoughts.

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks as you scrambled to grab one of the bags. "Right. Sorry."

The two of you worked together to set up camp, Joel guiding you through the process with surprising patience. His voice was steady as he explained how to secure the tent, his hands brushing yours once or twice as he passed you supplies.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, you were both seated on a log overlooking the lake, the golden-orange light reflecting off the water like fire.

You pulled your knees to your chest, your gaze fixed on the horizon. "This is beautiful," you said softly, almost to yourself.

Joel turned his head toward you, a small smile playing at his lips. "Yeah," he murmured. "It is."

You glanced at him and caught the way his eyes lingered—not on the lake, but on you. Your breath hitched, and you quickly looked away, feeling a blush creep up your neck.

"You come here often?" you asked, desperate to fill the silence.

Joel nodded, his smile turning wistful. “Used to. Sarah’s mom and I came here a lot when she was little,” he said, taking a swig of his beer he rummaged from the cooler earlier. “Sarah loved it out here.”

The mention of Sarah’s mom made you pause.

You hesitated, debating whether to ask the question lingering in your mind.

It felt like prying, but you couldn’t help yourself. "Is she… still in the picture?"

Joel’s expression shifted, the warmth in his eyes dimming just slightly.

He let out a quiet sigh, his gaze falling to the water. "No," he said simply, his voice low. "She, uh… found someone else when Sarah was about 8. Took off, never looked back."

Your heart clenched at the weight of his words. "Joel," you said softly, turning to face him. "I’m so sorry."

He shook his head, a faint, almost bitter smile tugging at his lips.

"Don’t be. Was a long time ago." He exhaled, his gaze far away now. "It’s just… you don’t forget, y’know? Even when you think you’re past it, some things stick with you."

You knew exactly what he meant—your own memories filled with pain, sorrow, and heartbreak.

You didn’t know what to say, so you reached out, letting your hand rest lightly on his forearm. His eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

"You’ve done a hell of a job with Sarah," you said gently, your voice steady despite the emotions threatening to rise. "She’s amazing. That’s all you."

Joel’s smile softened, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Thanks sweetheart’," he said quietly, the sincerity in his voice making your chest tighten.

Joel shifted beside you, his gaze fixed on the fading sunset, but there was a tension in his posture, a quiet hesitance that made your heart beat just a little faster.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice low and rough, like he’d been turning the words over in his mind.

“So, uh… you got a boyfriend or somethin’?” he asked quickly, following the question with another swig of his beer.

The question hung in the air, the weight of it surprising you. He didn’t look at you right away, his focus still on the water, but the way his fingers tapped lightly against his thigh betrayed his nerves. It almost sounded like it hurt him to ask.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Um, no. Not really." you said shaking your head at the thought of your ex.

Joel’s head tilted slightly, his eyebrows raising as he finally glanced at you. "Not really?" he repeated, his tone teasing but his expression curious. "Never heard of a relationship status like that before."

You laughed softly, bumping him lightly with your shoulder. "Shut up. You know what I mean."

His lips quirked into a small smile, and he leaned back slightly, his arm brushing against yours. "Well, I don’t. Enlighten me."

You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of your shirt as you tried to find the right words. "Before I moved here, I, uh… I had a boyfriend. But, um…" You trailed off, your gaze dropping to your lap.

Joel straightened a bit, his brows furrowing. "But what?" he prompted gently, his voice softer now.

"He cheated on me," you said finally, the words tumbling out quickly, like you wanted to get them over with.

Joel let out a sharp breath, his jaw tightening. "Shit," he muttered, the word carrying a quiet anger that made your chest ache.

"Yeah," you said, shrugging lightly. "So, guess that makes me single."

Joel nodded slowly, his gaze drifting back to the lake, but his silence felt heavy, like he was holding something back.

The quiet stretched between you until he spoke again, his voice low and deliberate.

"Stupid," he said, almost to himself shaking his head slightly.

You blinked, turning to look at him. "What?"

He met your eyes then, his expression unreadable but his gaze intense, like he was searching for something in your face.

"He’s stupid," Joel said, his voice firm, rough around the edges. "For lettin’ you go." He paused, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as if the words had cost him something.

"For hurtin’ you like that."

The weight of his words settling heavily in the space between you.

The implication of it all—the care, the quiet anger, the way his voice seemed to carry something he wasn’t ready to say aloud—made your chest tighten and your head spin.

You blinked, caught in the haze of the moment, your breath hitching as his gaze bore into you.

There was something raw in the way he looked at you, something unspoken but unmistakable, and it made your heart race in a way you couldn’t explain.

His eyes dropped, lingering on your lips for a moment too long, and your heart stuttered in your chest. That’s when you realized how close you’d both leaned in, the space between you barely a breath now.

The world seemed to slow, the rustling of the trees and distant hum of the lake fading into the background as his gaze flicked back to yours, dark and searching.

Was he about to kiss you?

The thought sent a rush of warmth through you, your breath catching in your throat as you stayed perfectly still, afraid that even the smallest movement might break the spell.

But before anything could happen the bright sweep of car headlights cut through the twilight, lighting up the campsite like a sudden flare.

Joel blinked, his jaw tightening as he tore his gaze from yours and pulled back, glancing over his shoulder at the approaching truck.

"Hey, kids!" Uncle Ray called as he climbed out of the truck, his cheerful tone breaking the spell entirely.

Joel leaned back slightly, the moment slipping through your fingers, but his eyes flicked back to you for just a second longer, holding something you couldn’t quite name before he turned away completely.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

The fire crackled softly, its warm glow casting flickering shadows across the campsite as you sat quietly, listening to Joel and Ray talk.

Their conversation drifted between sports, old stories, and small-town gossip, but your mind wandered, the distant rustle of the lake’s waves blending into the comforting hum of their voices.

You rested your chin on your palm, idly toying with the s'mores—the one indulgence you'd packed yourself for this trip.

The flames danced before you, casting flickering shadows across the campsite, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but wish Sarah were here with you.

As much as you appreciated the stillness of the evening, the crackling fire, and the quiet, her energy—her easy, unfiltered laughter—would’ve been a welcome distraction. Anything to drown out the thoughts swirling endlessly in your head, thoughts you couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how hard you tried.

You took a small bite, the sticky marshmallow clinging to your fingers as you gazed into the flames, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

You yawned, covering your mouth with your hand, trying to be subtle about it.

But Joel noticed—of course, he noticed. His eyes flicked to you, and the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, soft and almost imperceptible.

She’s so damn cute, he thought, his chest tightening as he watched you across the fire.

You sat there with your knees tucked up, eyes heavy with sleep as you nibbled absentmindedly on your s'more, the firelight casting a warm glow on your face.

He let the moment linger, committing the image to memory—your sleepy gaze, the way the marshmallow stuck to the corner of your lip before you brushed it away.

Joel wasn’t one for sentimentality, but something about this, about you like this, hit him square in the chest.

And now, as much as Joel loved Ray, he couldn’t help the thought creeping into his head - Will he ever stop talking?

Joel’s attention kept slipping, his focus torn between Ray’s stories and the way your face looked in the flickering glow of the firelight.

The soft shadows danced across your features, and he found himself studying the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes rested lightly against your skin when you blinked.

You looked peaceful, and yet, there was always something behind your eyes—something quiet, something he wanted to understand.

He wanted to sit closer to you, feel the warmth of your presence just a little more intimately. He wanted to hold you like he had that other night, your body pressed against his, as if in that moment he could protect you from the things you didn’t say aloud.

He wanted to ask you about your life—about the things that made you smile, the things that weighed you down.

Joel swallowed hard, dragging his eyes back to the fire, trying to steady himself. But no matter how much he tried to focus on Ray’s words, his thoughts kept circling back to you.

It was frustrating, almost infuriating, how effortlessly you seemed to have carved out a space in his mind, a place he wasn’t sure he was ready to give, yet couldn’t seem to stop offering.

As if on cue, Ray let out a quiet groan, patting his stomach. "Whew, ate too much," he muttered under his breath before pushing himself to his feet. "I’m gonna call it a night. Thanks for settin’ up the tents, you two."

He turned to you, smiling warmly. "Bright and early tomorrow, kid. Got a full day planned."

You gave him a thumbs-up, your lips curving into a small smile. "Good night, Ray."

"Alright, good night, kid. Night, Joel," Ray called out as he made his way to his tent, the soft sound of the zipper pulling closed signaling his exit.

Now, it was just you and Joel, the fire flickering between you in the quiet stillness of the night.

Joel stood then, the movement drawing your gaze. For a fleeting moment, you thought he might be heading to bed, leaving you alone by the fire. A quiet pang of disappointment tugged at your chest, one you didn’t quite understand.

But instead, he stepped around the flames, his boots crunching softly against the earth, and lowered himself onto the log beside you.

The quiet weight of his presence settled warmly at your side, close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his arm against yours.

"Hi," he said softly, his voice low and quiet, like it was meant just for you.

"Hi," you replied, your voice just as soft, your lips curving into a small, shy smile.

"You gonna make me one of those?" he asked, nodding toward the s’more in your hand, his voice low and teasing. "

A laugh escaped you, light and soft as you tore your eyes away from him, reaching for the ingredients. "Only if you say please," you quipped, trying to keep your voice steady despite the warmth rising in your chest.

Joel huffed out a chuckle, leaning back slightly and crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Please," he drawled, the word slow and deliberate, laced with just enough sarcasm to make you roll your eyes.

"Alright, alright," you muttered, assembling the s’more with shaky hands as you felt his gaze on you. It was infuriating how much you could feel his presence, how aware you were of every slight shift of his weight, every flicker of firelight dancing across his features.

When you finally handed it to him, his fingers brushed against yours, rough and warm, lingering for just a second too long.

He didn’t say anything at first, just took a bite, his eyes closing briefly as a satisfied hum rumbled in his chest.

"Good?" you asked, unable to hide the small grin creeping onto your face.

Joel opened his eyes, glancing at you with that familiar smirk. "Damn good," he said, his voice soft but still laced with that teasing edge.

But then his gaze shifted, his smirk fading into something quieter, more intense.

He looked at you now the way he had while you both sat by the lake—the same look that had made your breath catch, the same look that had made you think, for one charged moment, that he might kiss you.

He leaned forward slightly, his hand coming up to cup your face so casually it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

You froze, your heart hammering in your chest as his thumb brushed across your bottom lip, wiping away something you hadn’t even realized was there.

"You got some," he murmured, his voice low, rough around the edges.

Your mind spun, your words failing you. "Oh," you said, dumbly, your breath hitching as his thumb lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

"Some chocolate," he clarified, his lips twitching in amusement at your reaction. His hand dropped, but not before he licked his thumb, tasting the chocolate he’d just wiped from your lip.

It was intimate—so much more than it should’ve been. The warmth of his touch lingered, the rough pad of his thumb still ghosting against your skin, and it had your cheeks blazing, heat spreading through you like wildfire.

You couldn’t look away, your gaze locked on his as your mind raced, struggling to process the charged moment that had just unfolded between you.

"There," he said, his tone soft but edged with a faint smugness. "All clean."

"Thanks," you said again, your voice barely above a murmur, feeling completely thrown off balance.

You stumbled over your words as you stood, nervously brushing off your hands. "I should—I should get to bed. Like Uncle Ray said—uh, big day tomorrow."

Joel tilted his head, the faintest glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes as he looked up at you. That same quiet confidence was back, the one that made your stomach flutter in ways you wished it wouldn’t.

"Sweet dreams, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and warm, the words rolling off his tongue like a secret just for you.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

You lay in your tent, staring up at the dark fabric above you, every creak of the trees and gust of wind outside making your heart race.

Why did no one ever tell you how scary camping was? you thought, pulling the sleeping bag tighter around you.

Your mind reeled, replaying every horror movie you’d ever seen—axe murderers, wild animals, supernatural monsters. It was all crowding your thoughts, the darkness outside feeling heavier with every passing second.

“Shit,” you muttered, sitting up abruptly, your pulse hammering in your chest. At this rate, you weren’t going to get a wink of sleep.

Then you heard it. A twig snapping just outside your tent. Your breath hitched as you froze, every muscle tensing.

That’s it. You couldn’t do this anymore.

Without another thought, you bolted out of your tent, your bare feet crunching softly against the forest floor as you made a beeline for Joel’s tent, flashlight in hand.

The rational part of your brain told you to turn around, that this was ridiculous, but the panic gripping your chest had you unzipping his tent before you could second-guess yourself.

Inside, Joel lay on his side, his broad shoulders rising and falling steadily with each breath, his face softened in sleep. The sight should’ve calmed you, but your panic was still bubbling just under the surface.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, hesitating for a moment.

You didn’t want to wake him—this is ridiculous, you thought—but the howl of the wind outside made your nerves spike again.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He didn’t stir. His breathing stayed even, his face relaxed.

"Joel," you tried again, this time a little louder, leaning down and giving his leg a small shake. His brow furrowed slightly, but his eyes stayed shut.

"Joel," you hissed, shaking his leg a little harder now.

He groaned softly, shifting onto his back as his eyes cracked open, squinting at you in the dim light.

His voice was rough with sleep, low and gravelly as he mumbled, "What…? What’s goin’ on, honey?"

"I—" You hesitated, suddenly feeling absurdly childish standing there in your pajamas, barefoot and anxious.

What were you, five years old?

Joel sat up slowly, running a hand over his face to wake himself up. His brows furrowed, concern softening his features as his eyes locked on yours. "What’s wrong, darlin’?" he asked, his voice gentler now. "You alright?"

Your chest tightened, and you swallowed hard, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. "I—I’m scared," you admitted finally, your voice small. "I can’t sleep. The wind, the noises outside, it’s just…" You trailed off, feeling the words catch in your throat.

Joel’s expression softened further, his eyes scanning your face. He didn’t laugh or tease; he didn’t make you feel silly for being afraid. Instead, he shifted to make space beside him, his hand patting the empty spot.

"Come here," he said softly.

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"Come here," he repeated, his tone so gentle it made your chest ache. "Ain’t no reason for you to stay awake all night alone and scared like this. Get in here."

"I—" You hesitated, glancing at the small space and then back at him.

His eyes held yours, unwavering and soft, like he could see straight through your hesitation.

"It’s alright. C’mere," he murmured, shifting slightly as he stretched out his arm, creating a perfect space for you to slip into.

The gesture was so natural, so effortless, that it nearly took your breath away. His arm, strong and steady, formed a kind of haven, one that felt both safe and oddly intimate.

You hesitated, your heart racing as you stared at the spot he’d made for you.

"C’mon, darlin’," he coaxed gently, his voice dipping just enough to feel like a quiet promise. "Ain’t no need to be scared. I got you."

The sincerity in his tone broke through your hesitation.

Slowly, tentatively, you moved toward him, settling into the space he’d made for you. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close in a way that was firm yet incredibly gentle, like he’d done it a thousand times before.

This should’ve felt strange—you were pressed up against your neighbor, for god’s sake. But it didn’t. Somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. You tried to justify it to yourself—he was just helping you out, that’s all. But like this? In a way that felt so intimate, so unspoken?

"There," he said softly, his voice a warm murmur against the quiet of the night. "Ain’t nothin’ gonna bother you now. I’ll make sure of it."

You felt the tension in your body begin to melt as you rested your head against his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing grounding you in a way that nothing else had all night.

The sound of the wind and the creaks outside faded into the background, replaced by the soft, rhythmic thud of his heartbeat.

"I know it’s silly. I’m sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew he heard it.

Joel’s arm tightened ever so slightly around you, his hand brushing a soft, reassuring circle against your shoulder.

"Don’t apologize," he murmured, his voice low and steady, like the words were meant to wrap around you as much as his touch did.

His eyes closed, his breath evening out as he rested his head back against the pillow. "Just sleep, darlin’," he added softly, the warmth in his tone settling something deep inside you.

The way he said it, so sure, so unbothered, made your chest ache in the sweetest way. You nodded against him, your cheek brushing lightly against his chest, and let his steady heartbeat guide you toward rest.

Joel was right here, holding you like it was the most natural thing in the world—and for the first time in what felt like forever, it was enough.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Joel woke to the soft weight of you curled against him, your arm draped across his torso, your face tucked against his chest. His breath hitched as he took in the sight of you—peaceful, unguarded, your lips parted in a soft pout, your quiet snores barely audible above the faint rustle of the wind outside.

His stomach twisted, a mix of warmth and something far more dangerous. What the hell was he doing? Twice now he’d woken up with you wrapped around him, and both times it had unraveled something in him he’d been trying so hard to keep tightly wound.

Joel’s eyes drifted over your face, the soft curve of your cheek, the way your hair fell in loose strands against your skin. You looked so damn comfortable, like you belonged there, and that thought alone was enough to stir something deep in his chest—a quiet ache that he wasn’t sure he wanted to name.

He sighed quietly, his hand resting loosely on your back as he stared up at the ceiling. This is the second time, he thought, his jaw tightening. Second time I’ve woken up like this.

He knew better. He should know better. This—whatever this was—it couldn’t happen. He was old enough, wise enough to keep his distance, to stop himself before it got to this point.

But here you were, soft and warm against him, and no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, he couldn’t seem to stay away.

His fingers twitched against your back, the warmth of your body seeping into him like you were something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? You felt too good, too easy, too right.

Joel let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling gently under your weight. He should move—wake you, untangle himself—but he didn’t. Instead, he let his hand linger, the quiet intimacy of the moment too tempting to let go of just yet.

As the first light of dawn crept through the tent, Joel knew he was stuck—stuck in this limbo with you, caught somewhere between what he wanted and what he knew he shouldn’t have.

But for now, just for a moment, he let himself stay, because being wrapped up in you felt like the one thing he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

You trailed behind Ray and Joel as the three of you hiked up the winding trail, the morning sun filtering through the canopy of trees above.

The air was cool, but the steady incline was enough to leave you breathless, your legs burning with every step. You were grateful Joel had gotten out of the tent first that morning, leaving before Ray could see the two of you together like that. You weren’t sure how you’d explain that—not that anything had happened, but still.

Joel walked ahead of you, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt, the material damp with sweat that clung to his back. The sheen on his arms caught the light as he carried the pack effortlessly, his movements steady and unbothered, like the hike was a stroll through the park. You couldn’t help but notice how good he looked—how natural he seemed out here, in his element.

"You alright back there, Miss Chicago?" Joel called over his shoulder, his voice carrying easily over the rustle of leaves and crunch of boots against dirt.

You gave him a look, narrowing your eyes as you panted. "Fuck you," you huffed under your breath, though it lacked bite.

You were a lot of things at the moment—sweaty, tired, slightly annoyed—but you weren’t going to let Joel know how winded you actually were.

Joel’s grin was quick and teasing, his eyes glinting as he slowed his pace just slightly.

"I’m fine," you huffed, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. "Don’t worry about me, Miller. I’m hot on your heels."

Joel turned fully this time, his gaze dropping to meet yours, and for a moment, you thought he might actually say something encouraging.

Instead, his lips curved into a smirk as he glanced back to make sure Ray was still ahead of him. Then, his eyes flicked back to you, and he leaned in slightly, mouthing, "Definitely hot."

He finished it with a quick wink, the teasing glint in his eyes making your stomach flip.

Your cheeks burned, and you looked away quickly, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. "You’re ridiculous," you muttered under your breath, though you knew he’d caught the blush spreading across your face.

Joel chuckled softly, turning back to the trail as if nothing had happened, but the faint curve of his smile stayed firmly in place.

You followed behind him, your heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the steep incline.

Your mind lingered on his words, definitely hot, playing them over like a loop you couldn’t quite shut off. Should you read into it? Probably not. But then again, waking up tangled together in his tent that morning wasn’t exactly nothing.

Something was there—you felt it every time he looked at you, every time his teasing remarks left you flustered.

Still, just because you were both single didn’t mean it was more than some harmless, shameless flirting. Right?

You didn’t have much time to dwell on it as you finally arrived at your destination. Ray let out a satisfied sigh, shrugging off his pack as he took in the view. "Looks the same as the first time I got here," he said, his voice warm with nostalgia.

The lake stretched out before you, secluded and serene, surrounded by tall trees that swayed gently in the breeze. A tire swing hung from one of the branches, swaying lazily over the water’s edge. The sunlight danced across the surface, making it glimmer like something out of a postcard.

"Wow," you breathed, taking it all in.

"Worth the hike?" Joel’s voice came from beside you, low and teasing.

You turned to him, meeting his gaze, and smiled softly. "Definitely."

Ray didn’t waste a second. "I’m goin’ in!" he declared, pulling off his shirt with a laugh before running straight for the water. He launched himself in with an impressive cannonball, the splash sending ripples across the lake.

You laughed, shaking your head as he resurfaced, grinning ear to ear.

Joel leaned against a tree, his arms crossed casually as he watched you. "How about you?" he asked, his voice lighter now, but his eyes holding a flicker of something else.

Your mind flashed to his earlier comment, the one that had left your cheeks burning and your heart racing. Definitely hot. Maybe it was time to get back at him, just a little.

"Yeah," you said, feigning nonchalance. "Me too."

Before Joel could respond, you reached for the hem of your shirt and tugged it over your head, revealing the bikini you’d been wearing underneath.

Joel froze, his mouth opening slightly as if to say something, but no words came out. His eyes flicked down, then quickly back up to meet yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw his breath hitch.

You furrowed your brows innocently, tilting your head at him with a playful glint in your eyes. "What?" you asked, your voice light and teasing as you reached for the waistband of your shorts. With deliberate slowness, you shimmied them down, the movement undeniably purposeful, knowing full well he’d notice.

Joel’s gaze flicked toward you before he quickly averted it, his jaw tightening as you folded the shorts neatly and placed them on a nearby rock, your every move radiating nonchalance. The corners of your lips tugged into a small, mischievous smile as you caught the faintest hint of color rising to his cheeks.

Joel blinked, clearly trying to recalibrate. "Nothin’," he muttered, his voice rougher than usual as he dragged a hand over his jaw.

You smirked, pleased with the small victory, before turning and walking toward the water’s edge. You didn’t miss the way his gaze followed you, though he tried to play it cool by pretending to adjust his pack.

As you stepped into the water, the coolness refreshing against your skin, you turned back toward Joel, who was still standing there, his expression unreadable.

"You comin’ in?" you called, grinning at him.

Joel tilted his head, his lips curving into a slow smirk that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Yeah," he said finally, his voice steady. "I reckon I am."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

You followed Joel up to the tire swing, the soft crunch of dirt under your feet mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves overhead. He stood by the swing, holding the rope steady, his grin easy and teasing. "C’mon," he urged, motioning for you to step closer. "Ain’t as scary as it looks."

Joel went first, gripping the old tire swing like it was second nature. He turned to glance at you, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. “Watch and learn, sweetheart,” he said with a wink, and before you could even roll your eyes, he pushed off.

He swung out effortlessly, his strong arms flexing as he held on, and for a moment, it looked like he was flying, the sunlight catching on the water droplets clinging to his skin. Then, with a whoop that was both boyish and entirely too charming, Joel let go, plunging into the lake with a splash that sent ripples all the way to the shore.

You couldn’t help but laugh, covering your mouth with your hand as he resurfaced a moment later, shaking water from his hair like a wet dog. He treaded water with an ease that made it seem like he belonged here, his grin wide and infectious as he tilted his head back to look at you.

“Alright, darlin’, your turn,” he called, his voice teasing but warm.

You stood by the swing, hands hovering over the rope as you hesitated. “I don’t know…” you muttered, glancing down at him.

Joel leaned back slightly, his arms moving lazily through the water to keep himself afloat, his movements effortless, almost hypnotic. His grin softened, melting into something gentler, more coaxing as his eyes locked on yours.

"C’mon," he murmured, his voice dipping lower, steadier, carrying a reassurance that made your chest tighten. "I won’t let ya get hurt, I promise."

You bit your lip, eyeing the swing skeptically. “I feel like I’m gonna look ridiculous,” you admitted, your cheeks heating.

Joel let out a soft laugh, his head tilting to the side as he watched you. “Darlin’, you couldn’t look ridiculous if you tried,” he said, his tone so genuine that it made your stomach flip. “Just grab on and let go. I’ll be right here.”

You glanced between him and the swing, nerves buzzing in your chest. “You better not laugh at me,” you warned, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Cross my heart,” Joel said, grinning as he made the motion across his chest. "I’m right here," he added, his voice low and steady.

That got you.

You shook your head, a small laugh escaping you as you grabbed the rope. With one deep breath, you pushed off, the swing carrying you out over the water as your stomach flipped wildly. For a moment, it was like flying, the wind rushing past you, and then you let go, landing in the lake with a splash.

When you resurfaced, gasping and laughing, Joel was already there, the water rippling softly around him as he swam closer. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low and warm, his smile utterly intoxicating.

“Yeah, that was fun,” you said between breaths, your laughter still bubbling up despite the water dripping down your face.

His grin widened, a flicker of pride lighting up his eyes. “See? I told you,” he said, his tone teasing but gentle. “You gotta trust me.”

You smiled back, the heat in your chest having nothing to do with the exercise. “I guess I do.”

“Mhm,” he murmured, his voice softer now, his eyes holding yours for just a second too long, the space between you charged and undeniable.

You drifted lazily in the lake, the water cool against your skin, but all you could feel was Joel. He was close, his presence magnetic, his movements slow and effortless as he treaded near you. The sunlight played off his damp skin, the lines of his face softer but no less handsome in the golden glow.

Your breath hitched when you felt his hands brush against your waist, his grip steady and grounding as he pulled you closer. Instinctively, your hands found his shoulders, your fingers curling against the firm muscles beneath his warm skin.

The water rippled around you, but all you could focus on was the way his eyes locked on yours, intense and unguarded, like he was seeing something no one else ever had.

“Joel,” you murmured, your voice soft, uncertain, though it wavered under the weight of the moment. “We should go back…” you muttered looking over your shoulder for any signs of Ray.

“Shh,” he interrupted gently, his voice low and soothing, a quiet command that wrapped around you like the current itself. The sound of it made you fall silent, your breath catching as his hands steadied you in the water.

One rested firmly on your waist, grounding you, while the other splayed across your lower back, keeping you close, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin in a way that made your pulse quicken.

“Just let me look at you,” he murmured, his words soft but heavy, like they carried more weight than he was willing to admit. His gaze roamed your face, lingering on your lips before meeting your eyes again, the intensity in them sending a flush of heat cascading through you.

You blushed deeply, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady your breath under his gaze. The world around you seemed to fade, the water, the trees, the sky—all of it narrowing to just Joel.

He leaned in slowly, his eyes dipping to your lips, and your heart raced as you let your eyes flutter shut, anticipation coiling tight in your chest. His breath was warm against your skin, his grip firm yet gentle, and you swore you could feel the moment stretching endlessly between you.

"Are y’all still by the swing?" Ray’s cheerful voice called out, loud and oblivious, shattering the fragile spell between you.

Your eyes snapped open, and before you could think, you instinctively pulled back, the sudden movement sending a small splash of water between you.

Joel let out a low groan, his hand dragging through his wet hair in frustration as he turned slightly, shouting back, “Yeah! We’ll head your way!” His tone was steady, but the edge of irritation was impossible to miss.

You were already making your way toward the shore, your movements quick and deliberate, your back turned to him. The air felt heavier now, your heartbeat racing as you tried to steady yourself, to push away the lingering heat from the moment that had almost been.

“Alright!” Ray’s voice called again, carrying easily over the water.

Joel stayed where he was for a moment, watching you climb out, droplets of water trailing down your skin in the glow of the fading sunlight.

Shit, he thought, running a hand down his face, his chest tight with the ache of longing.

Every second he spent with you seemed to unravel him a little more, his desire for you growing into something he wasn’t sure he could contain.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

As you trudged down the trail toward the campsite, your eyes kept drifting to Joel’s broad back, his steady strides cutting effortlessly through the uneven terrain. Sure, you’d been drawn to him from the start, his rugged charm and shameless flirting throwing you off balance in ways you weren’t ready to admit.

But what had just happened at the lake—it felt different, like something had shifted. The memory of his touch, his gaze, lingered, warm and unsettling all at once.

A knot twisted in your stomach as the thought struck you: were you catching feelings for Joel?

The idea made your chest tighten, a mix of worry and something dangerously close to hope creeping in as you tried to shake it off.

As you continued down the path, your foot caught on something—maybe a root, maybe a loose rock—and suddenly you were falling. A sharp pain shot through your ankle as you hit the ground, your hands instinctively gripping at it. "Ah, shit!" you exclaimed, your voice tight with pain.

Within moments, Ray and Joel were at your side, their footsteps hurried and voices tinged with concern. "What happened?" Ray asked, his eyes scanning you anxiously.

You pushed yourself up slightly, your palms pressing into the dirt as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The pain radiated like a hot wave from your ankle. "I think I—shit—I tripped over something," you muttered, your voice breaking slightly as the pain settled in.

Joel knelt beside you, his brows furrowed in focus. His gaze flicked to your face, softening when he saw the tears threatening to spill over. "I’m gonna press here, sweetheart," he said gently, his voice low and soothing. "You let me know if it hurts, alright?"

You nodded, biting your lip as he carefully pressed his fingers against the tender spot. A sharp hiss escaped you as the pain flared, and Joel pulled his hand back immediately, his jaw tightening.

"I don’t think she can walk down the rest," he said firmly, looking at Ray. "I’ll carry her."

"What?" you blurted, shaking your head despite the pain. "It’s not much further, Joel. I can—"

He cut you off with a soft but commanding tone. "It’s not much further, darlin’, but you’re not walkin’ on that until we get some ice on it. No arguments."

Ray hesitated. "You sure, Joel?"

Joel gave a small smirk, his confidence unwavering. "Piece of cake," he said, already reaching for your hand to help you up. He steadied you as you rose, your good leg bearing all your weight. His hand on your arm was firm, his touch grounding.

"Joel," you started, hesitating as embarrassment washed over you. "I might be too heavy—"

"Not a chance," he interrupted, his voice soft but resolute. "Now get on my back."

With a reluctant nod, you looped your arms around his shoulders as he crouched slightly. Joel’s hands found their place under your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing at all.

The trail back was mercifully smooth.

Joel carried you with a strength that felt almost unreal, his movements so steady and sure you barely felt the jostle of each step. The warmth of his back seeped through his shirt, an unspoken comfort that anchored you to the moment. Hesitant at first, you let your head come to rest against his shoulder, the fabric brushing against your cheek.

He walked as though your weight was nothing, his voice low and steady as he spoke to Ray. There wasn’t a single hitch in his breath, no sign of exertion, just the quiet cadence of his words blending with the crickets chirping softly in the underbrush.

"You doin’ okay back there?" Joel's voice rumbled, breaking the gentle silence. He tilted his head just enough to catch your gaze out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah," you murmured, though your cheeks flared with a heat you couldn’t quite shake—a blend of gratitude and something softer, more vulnerable. "Thanks, Joel."

He answered with a low hum, the sound laced with a teasing edge. "Told ya—piece of cake. Almost forgot you were there."

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

By the time you reached the campsite, Joel set you down carefully, his hands lingering just long enough to make sure you were steady on your good leg.

He gave you a small, crooked smile, his eyes holding yours for a moment before his voice cut through the haze of your thoughts. "You alright?" he asked softly, his hand steadying you as he helped you hop over to one of the foldable chairs by the fire.

His grip was firm but careful, ensuring you didn’t put weight on your injured ankle. Once you were settled, he crouched down slightly, still eyeing you with that quiet intensity.

"Yeah," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "It’s not as bad right now."

"Good," he said, straightening up, his tone matter-of-fact but tinged with something softer. "I’ll be back with some ice and Tylenol, alright?"

You nodded, watching him as he turned and strode toward the supplies. Your heart was still racing, and not just from the pain. Joel had just carried you down that hike—effortlessly, like it was nothing.

The memory of his arms around you, solid and sure, sent heat rushing to your cheeks. He was strong—so much stronger than you’d expected, and the thought left you flustered.

You bit your lip, your gaze lingering on him longer than you meant to.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

That night, you sat quietly by the fire, the soft crackle of the flames filling the cool night air. The logs had burned low, their glow dimming to faint embers that flickered and cast dancing shadows against the surrounding trees.

Your ankle, now taped up, felt manageable—the ice and Tylenol doing just enough to take the edge off the pain so you could move on your own if needed.

Ray stretched out with a dramatic yawn, breaking the comfortable silence. "Welp," he muttered, patting his stomach in satisfaction, his tone thick with exhaustion. "Gonna call it a night. Early morning and all that." His movements were slow and unhurried as he ambled toward his tent, tossing a casual "Goodnight, kids," over his shoulder before ducking inside, the zip of the tent flap marking his retreat.

Silence settled over the campsite, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze and the fading pop of embers. Neither you nor Joel spoke at first. The weight of the moment pressed between you, thick and unspoken, as the firelight flickered across his face.

When Joel finally stood, the motion was slow and deliberate. He didn’t say anything, but the way he looked at you—steady, searching—made your chest tighten. He tilted his head ever so slightly, a subtle gesture toward his tent, his expression unreadable but his intent unmistakable.

Your heart fluttered, skipping a beat as you hesitated for only a moment before rising to follow him. The distance between the fire and his tent felt both impossibly short and agonizingly long, the quiet stretch of night amplifying every step you took.

Inside, it felt impossibly small, the air thick with the quiet intimacy that seemed to hang between you. Joel had already settled on his side, his arm resting under his head as he watched you crawl in, his gaze soft and inviting.

You lay beside him, the warmth of his body pulling you in like gravity. It felt so natural, so easy, as you nestled closer, your hand resting lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your fingertips.

You didn’t even stop to question how strange this was—sharing a tent, practically cuddling with your neighbor, a man you’d met barely a week ago. But it wasn’t weird, right? This was because you were too scared to sleep in your own tent, wasn’t it?

He was just helping you out, being kind in his own quiet, steady way. That was all. Even if his arm was draped around you, pulling you close against his side, and his fingers were threading softly through your hair, lulling you into a calm you hadn’t felt in ages. Right?

“You’re warm,” you murmured, your voice soft and muffled slightly against his skin, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

“Yeah?” Joel replied, his voice low and quiet, the sound of it wrapping around you like a blanket.

“Yeah,” you said, your eyes fluttering shut as his arm slid around you tighter, pulling you even closer.

Joel chuckled quietly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, warm and soothing. “This better than last night, huh? No scary noises to worry about,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

His fingers trailed absentmindedly up and down your arm, the motion gentle and rhythmic, sending a comforting warmth through you.

You smiled against him, the memory of your panic almost laughable now. “No scary noises,” you agreed softly. “No axe murderer waiting for me.”

Joel laughed then, a warm, genuine sound that made your heart flip. He glanced down at you, the corner of his mouth quirking up as your eyes met.

You grinned, your eyes glimmering with a soft, doe-like sheen, their glossy warmth catching the faint light and making you look impossibly endearing.

For a moment, everything felt weightless, suspended in the quiet intimacy of the tent. His gaze lingered on your face, tracing over your features as if committing them to memory, before dipping to your lips.

The air seemed to thicken, charged with an unspoken tension. His teasing smile softened, his expression shifting into something deeper, more serious. His lips parted, and he muttered under his breath, so quiet you almost didn’t catch it.

“Fuck.”

Your smile faded, replaced with a small furrow in your brow. “What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice tinged with worry. A small part of you panicked.

What if he regretted this? What if you’d crossed a line you couldn’t uncross?

“I—” Joel began, his voice catching as his gaze darted away for a brief, fleeting moment. He looked almost nervous, his lips pressing into a thin line before he let out a quiet sigh. “You do somethin’ to me. I—damn it, I don’t even know how to say it.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding as you stared up at him, searching his face for answers. His expression was a storm of emotion, raw and unguarded, and for the first time, he seemed almost vulnerable.

"In a good way?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper, your chest tightening at the way his eyes held yours. They were so steady, so sure, yet there was a fire in them that made your pulse race. His gaze flicked to your lips for a beat too long, like he was fighting a battle within himself.

"Yeah," he nodded, his voice soft but resolute. "A good way."

"Joel," you murmured, his name tumbling from your lips like a plea, unbidden, as though it was the only word you could find.

He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as his thoughts raced. This might ruin everything, he told himself, but damn it, he needed you.

The way you looked at him, those soft, glossy eyes wide with uncertainty and longing, made it impossible to think straight. His gaze dropped to your lips again, this time lingering with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. It wasn’t just desire—it was something deeper, something raw and consuming.

He wanted you in a way that terrified him.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked finally, his voice low and tender, almost hesitant, as though he was offering you every chance to stop this, to pull away. The vulnerability in his tone made your chest ache, the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

"Kiss me," you breathed, the words spilling from your lips in a desperate rush, raw and unfiltered. You didn’t think—you couldn’t think. All you could feel was the tension crackling between you, the way his eyes burned into yours as though he was already memorizing every inch of you.

His lips were on yours in an instant, feverish and hungry, his hands cupping your face as if you were something precious yet utterly irresistible. His movements were urgent, almost frantic, yet there was a tenderness woven into the desperation, as though he was pouring every unspoken word, every pent-up feeling, into the kiss.

His calloused fingers brushed against your skin, the roughness a stark contrast to the softness of his lips. The texture grounded you, tethering you to the intensity of the moment.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way his hands trembled slightly against your jaw as he pulled you closer. His kiss was unrestrained, unrelenting, his lips parting to taste you more fully. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, a barely controlled hunger evident in the gesture, and a quiet, throaty sound escaped him—a mixture of longing and satisfaction.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a claiming, a confession, and a plea all at once.

When he finally pulled back, his breaths came shallow and uneven, . "I’ve wanted to do this for longer than I should admit," he murmured, his voice husky and raw. His thumb brushed softly over your cheek, but his eyes flickered, betraying the intensity still burning within him. His gaze darted to your lips, swollen from the force of his kiss, then back to your eyes, searching for some unspoken permission.

And then he leaned in again, his lips finding your neck this time, moving with an almost reckless need. His kisses were sloppy, open-mouthed, leaving a trail of heat in their wake as his teeth and tongue grazed your skin.

You gasped at the sensation, your fingers instinctively threading through his hair, holding him close as his lips lingered just below your jaw. He sucked lightly, enough to make your breath hitch, then harder, marking you in a way that sent a thrilling shiver down your spine. You knew you’d see the evidence of his hunger in the morning, and the thought made your heart race.

"Joel," you breathed, your voice trembling with need but steady in its conviction. His lips stilled against your skin, his head tilting to meet your gaze. The intensity in his eyes was overwhelming, stealing the air from your lungs as if he could see straight through to the ache building inside you.

"I want you," you admitted, the words spilling out before you could second-guess them.

It was almost embarrassing how easily this man unraveled you—how just one kiss, one touch, had set you alight. Your cheeks burned at the realization, but the need to feel him, to close the aching gap between you, overpowered any hesitation. Your voice was soft but unwavering, laced with the weight of everything unspoken yet so desperately felt.

You felt his breath hitch against your neck, a quiet exhale that sent a shiver down your spine. His grip on you tightened slightly, grounding you while tethering himself.

But he stopped you with a gentle shake of his head, his lips curving into a small, almost pained smile. A soft chuckle rumbled low in his chest, but it wasn’t mocking—it was tender, full of something unspoken yet profound.

"Shit, darlin'," he murmured, his voice low and warm, his hand still cradling your face as though you were something fragile. His thumb brushed against your cheek, the soothing touch making your chest tighten. "I want you too—more than you probably realize. But this…" He paused, his voice quieter now, steadier. "This ain’t how I wanna do it."

It took everything in him to stop. The way you whimpered his name, the way your eyes burned with unrestrained desire, had him teetering on the edge of his own resolve. Your soft, gasping breaths and the way your fingers clung to him ignited something primal, something he struggled to hold back. The tension in his body betrayed his words, the strain of his cock against his pants a glaring contradiction to the restraint he was forcing himself to maintain.

His eyes softened as his lips quirked into a small, apologetic smile. His hand moved gently, brushing a stray strand of hair back from your face. "You deserve better than… a tent on the floor," he said with a wry grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "When it happens—"

Your breath hitched at the weight of his words, the quiet certainty that hung in the air. "When?" you whispered, barely audible, your heart pounding in your chest.

Joel nodded, his thumb grazing your bottom lip in a way that sent shivers through you. His eyes held yours, steady and full of something that made your pulse race. "When," he repeated, his tone firm, leaving no room for doubt. "Gonna do this right. You deserve that."

"Okay," you whispered back, your voice soft, your chest aching with the intensity of the moment.

Joel leaned in slowly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, the touch warm and lingering, filled with a tenderness that made your eyes sting. "Now, go to bed," he murmured, his voice low and sweet, wrapping around you like a quiet command, like a promise.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Tag List:

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[milunalupin]

— all-american

james potter x reader ★ 869 words

"Can you two stop giggling? People are staring."

The boys followed the tallest Marauder through the streets of muggle London, on their way to some American diner Peter had told them about. The purebloods couldn't help but 'ooh' and 'ahh' at all the unusual things they didn't have back in their world. A large neon sign came into view, the 'C' in 'Nick's Diner' flickering on and off. The loud jingle of the bell as they opened the door announced their arrival, only a few other patrons scattered around the diner. A voice from somewhere back in the kitchen called out.

"Welcome in, take a seat anywhere you'd like!"

They decided on a red leather booth near the back corner, a 'Taxi Driver' poster plastered right above the table. The black and white checkerboard flooring and jukebox made it feel like they were in that film 'Grease' their friend Lily makes them watch every other week.

"Evening boys, how's everyone doin'? My name is Y/N, can I get anyone started with a drink?"

James thinks he must've gotten hit by a muggle car crossing the street to get here because he believes he's seeing an angel in person. You just look so pretty, in your little red dress and white apron, curly hair tied up in a ponytail. Your smile. Merlin, he was going to need to get his eyes checked again after dinner because your smile was truly blinding. Were those wedding bells he was hearing?

"I think James over here is good, all that drool should last him a good week or two."

A hard slap on the back took him out of his daze. His eyebrows pinched together and he was about to say something back to Sirius when he realized he was drooling, quickly wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater before turning back to you with red cheeks and a sheepish smile.

"A Coca-Cola for me, please."

You think the blushing boy before you couldn't get any cuter. You grinned and nodded, telling them you'd be back with their drinks as you strolled back to the kitchen.

Once James finally took his eyes away from your swinging ponytail, he was met with three shit-eating grins. He glares back but their smiles do not falter, causing James to scoff with furrowed eyebrows. "What."

Dinner goes by in a flash with the friends enjoying their meals and sneakily changing the music from the jukebox, wands hidden under the table. The boys notice they just so happen to have a very attentive waitress, your lovely self coming around to their table often. It was interesting that even after they'd finished eating, you would appear to fill their almost overflowing cups with water or drop off extra napkins. James did nothing but send a dopey grin your way, and he does consider talking to you but freezes the second your big brown eyes stare back at him.

Remus groaned as he watched his friend be so pathetically consumed by you, setting down his now empty mug. "Prongs, tell me. Are you going to ask her out or just sit there with your tongue out like Padfoot begging for someone to throw him a bone?"

"I do not beg!" The dog animagi sputtered, hitting the dirty blonde beside him, "Tell 'em Pete!"

"Piss off Moony, it's not that easy. She's perfect."

Your shift was over, and truthfully it could've been worse. The table of four boys really made up for the more sour customers you had earlier in the day. The disappointment on your face was obvious when you had gone to clean their table and there was no number left behind on any of the napkins.

After finishing your closing duties you walked out the back door and turned the corner to find a large eagle owl perched upon the diner's bike rack. It wasn't too common to see owls in this area, but the shine of its feathers and well maintained claws tell you it's not from around here. Taking careful steps towards the bird, you offer your hand. It expanded its wings and flapped them twice at you before butting its head against the palm of you hand. You smiled and smoothed the beautiful creature's feathers back, now realizing there was an envelope sitting between the owl's talons. Taking the envelope and opening it up, you find a letter written to who you presumed to be yourself.

Dearest Y/N,

You have me infatuated with your beautiful smile and killer table waiting skills. I'm pretty funny and can show you a good time. Not like that though, unless you wanted t

What I mean to say is, I would throw all of England's tea in the ocean again if it meant I could win the honor of taking you out. On a date that is, not like killing you. I promise to make the night magical. I'll come by the diner next week with flowers and hopefully you don't punch me in the face for being a creep.

Yours,

James Potter

Smiling to yourself, you gave the owl one last pet and a thank you before pulling your wand out and disapparating home.

[austinbutlerslovers]

Pretty Little Secret

Label mature 18+

Summary Your dad is a famous no-nonsense actor: study hard, never rest on your laurels, and don’t even think about boys. Those were his rules, drilled into you since you were old enough to understand them. So when his gorgeous best friend, Austin, starts taking an unexpected interest in you, it completely derails your carefully constructed world.

🚨 Depraved Smut 🚨 sheltered reader • first crush •curios reader 18+ •coercion • abuse of trust • manipulation • unexperienced reader • physical exploration • edging • fingering • size training • size kink• oral on fem• gentle (as possible) P in V • multiple orgasms •pull out •aftercare 🔗Master List

📖 Proofreader @purejasmine

Pretty Little Secret

The summer barbecue is in full swing, the smell of grilling burgers and sizzling ribs filling the backyard. Your dad, the larger-than-life, no-nonsense actor everyone admires, is holding court at the grill, telling stories that make everyone laugh. But your attention isn’t on him—it’s on Austin Butler.

Austin is your dad’s best friend, though the two couldn’t be more different. Where your dad is gruff and commanding always taking charge, Austin has a laid-back charm, a warmth that makes everyone feel special

They had recently filmed a movie together, a huge hit that had dominated the box office. Your dad couldn’t stop talking about Austin’s talent, his work ethic, or how he was the easiest person he’d ever filmed with. It had turned into endless visits and outings making Austin a near constant presence in your life.

You remember vividly the first time you met him, it was at a dinner party your parents hosted to celebrate one of your dad’s films. Austin walked in effortlessly charming with a gorgeous smile. He was wearing a tailored all black suit that somehow made him look both casual and impossibly put together at the same time.

He had leaned in to greet your dad, laughing at one of his sarcastic remarks, and then his gaze shifted to you. As he introduced himself, it felt like time slowed. “I’m Austin. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, his voice smooth and inviting as he extended a hand.

The scent of his cologne drifted toward you—clean, fresh, and utterly intoxicating and his blue eyes were so focused on yours that it made your stomach flip

You’d never felt so self-conscious, so aware of yourself. It wasn’t just that he was stunning—it was the way he carried himself, like he didn’t even have to try to captivate you.

In that moment, everything you knew about life had changed. The way you felt about him was deeper than friendly—it was a feeling that made your heart race every time he was near, something that never happened before.

It was then that you slowly understood why your dad wanted you to stay away from boys—but Austin was a man.

The memory still lingers in your mind as you sit on the patio steps, pretending to read through your book as your eyes kept drifting to him.

Austin is gorgeous, with his effortless smile and the way his hair catches the sunlight just right, like he doesn’t even try to be perfect.

Today, he wears a fitted white t-shirt that hugs his athletic frame, paired with blue jeans that somehow make him look like he’s just stepped out of a magazine. He holds a drink casually in his hand, laughing with your dad as if they’ve been born friends.

He glances your way, catching you mid-stare and your heart leaps into your throat. Instead of looking away, he slowly smiles at you, walking over with a smooth, unhurried strut.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he grins, his voice as warm as the late afternoon sun as he gestures to your sundress. “That color looks nice on you.”

Your cheeks burn so hot you’re sure they match the barbecue flames. “Th-thank you, Austin,” you stutter, looking down and pretending to fidget with your bookmark.

He leans one shoulder casually against the patio railing, his drink balanced effortlessly in his hand as he gazes down at you.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he says, his eyes flicking to yours with a playful glint. “Your dad’s keeping you buried in books again.” he smiles.

You nod, trying to keep your voice steady. “He wants me to do very well in school and get into NYU,” you admit.

He smiles over the rim of his glass, taking a slow sip as his eyes linger on you.

“Figures,” he says, setting the drink down by his side. “He doesn’t strike me as the ‘let you slack off’ type.”

You nod in agreement, smiling slightly.

“Don’t let him keep you too busy though—you’ve gotta have a little fun, right?” He asks with a knowing look.

Your cheeks burn hotter, and your heart thumps so loudly you���re sure he can hear it. “I try,” you say quietly, your cheeks burning brighter under his gaze.

He tilts his head slightly, taking a slow sip from his glass, his eyes narrowing on you just enough to make your insides flutter.

“Any boys keeping you distracted?” he grins, his voice playful, “Or does your dad have them all running scared too?” He asks his tone dropping to something conspiratorial.

You shake your head quickly, your cheeks burning even brighter. “Never boys,” you say with a slight smile as you glance up at him. Your eyes are soft and smitten unable to hide the way you feel about him.

Austin’s grin widens at your reaction, a playful glint flashing in his eyes.

He tips his glass toward you in a way that feels almost like approval. “You’re a good girl,” he says softly, his voice low enough to make your stomach flip, before pushing off the railing.

“I’ll see you around,” he says as he turns to leave, his gaze dropping just slightly, lingering for the briefest second, as if he’s memorizing every detail of the way you look in this moment.

Then, he strolls back to the group, leaving you rooted to the spot, your mind spinning.

The way he talks to you, the way his attention feels like it’s meant just for you, and the way he smiles at you lingers in your thoughts long after he’s gone—You try hard to push your feelings aside, but your completely falling for Austin Butler.

At dinner your dad sits at the head of the table, recounting the highlights of the party with a sly grin. You push your food around your plate, replaying every second of your conversation with Austin in your mind, when your dad suddenly mentions him.

“Austin’s seeing someone new,” he says, taking a bite of steak. “Supermodel. Met her at some gala thing.”

Your heart plummets. You barely hear your mom’s response, something about how strategic Austin is with his girlfriends.

All you can think about is how unfair it feels. You spend the rest of dinner sulking, your appetite gone, barely noticing the way your dad raises an eyebrow at your obvious pout.

Austin doesn’t come around much after that, and you throw yourself into homework and other distractions.

You begin spending hours drawing or listening to music to keep your mind off him, but the house feels emptier without his easy laughter and teasing comments, like a missing piece that leaves everything feeling slightly off.

One day, as you come home from school you see your dad and Austin talking in the kitchen, making you stop in your tracks as you stare in disbelief.

Your dad is showing him how to use the espresso maker, his deep voice rumbling through the space while Austin leans casually against the counter. He’s wearing a soft white henley that clings to him just right, his sandy blonde hair perfectly tousled.

“There she is,” Austin greets, his smile easy as you drop your bag by the door. “How was school?”

“F-fine,” you manage, but your voice comes out quieter than you intend. His attention feels like a spotlight, and the unexpected visit catches you completely off guard. Feeling overwhelmed you quickly run upstairs feeling your cheeks flush warm.

Later that night, your mom comes to check on you while you’re lying in bed. “How’s my girl doing?” she asks affectionately, a laundry basket balanced on her hip.

“Fine,” you reply, though your thoughts are anything but calm.

She sets the basket down and begins placing your folded clothes into the dresser. As she turns to leave, she pauses, her tone softening. “Oh, by the way, Austin’s going to be staying with us for a while. He and his girlfriend broke up, and he’s throwing himself into a new project with your dad.”

The door clicks shut, and you let out a shaky sigh. Austin is staying with you, and he’s just downstairs. He’s heartbroken, and he’ll be living in your house for who knows how long.

The thought is overwhelming, filling your chest with a swirl of emotions—sympathy, excitement, nervousness—and before you can stop yourself, a small smile spreads across your lips.

Over the next few days, you fall into a routine. After school, you come home, finish your homework, and try to act normal whenever Austin is around.

But “normal” feels impossible when he’s sitting on the couch, reading through scripts, or casually fixing himself a snack in the kitchen. His presence fills the house, making it hard to focus on anything but him.

One evening, you’re sketching at the dining table when he walks in, a glass of water in hand. He leans over slightly to see what you’re working on, his cologne faint but intoxicating.

“Beautiful,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “You’re really talented.”

You freeze, gripping your pencil a little tighter. “It’s nothing,” you mumble, your face heating up.

“No, really,” he insists, his gaze lingering on your sketch before flicking to your face. “You’ve got an eye for detail.

Your cheeks flush deeper, and you look away, unable to handle the intensity of his eye contact. “Thanks,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

As you continue to draw, his compliment stays with you long after he leaves the room, the warmth of his presence lingering like a phantom touch.

Over the next few days, every interaction with him—every soft word or shared smile—feels like a secret you hold close, something just for you.

You can’t help the way your cheeks warm whenever your eyes meet. The way he begins to look at you when you catch him watching makes your stomach flip. His gaze is soft and thoughtful, as though he’s seeing something in you that you don’t fully understand yet.

At night, as you lay in bed, all you do is think about him— how he is downstairs, so close, yet impossibly out of reach.

At dinner the next evening, the table buzzes with lively conversation. Your mom recounts an event she and your dad attended, while Austin chimes in with his easy humor, making your no-nonsense father crack a warm smile.

You, on the other hand, sit quietly, picking at your plate, aware of every occasional brush of Austin’s knee against yours as he shifts in his seat. Your cheeks warm, and you try to focus on your food, but his subtle touch is impossible to ignore.

Midway through the meal, your dad clears his throat. “So, your mom and I are heading out for a few days. There’s a film festival in Cannes we can’t miss. Networking, appearances, you know the drill.”

Your mom smiles warmly at you. “Since it’s your spring break, we thought Austin could keep an eye on you while we’re away.”

You nearly choke on your water at her words, the idea of being alone with Austin catching you completely off guard. Your dad chuckles at your reaction, shaking his head. “He’s staying because I don’t want you to get any ideas—no parties, and absolutely no boys over,” he says, giving you a pointed look.

Your cheeks burn as your gaze flickers toward Austin. He meets your eyes briefly, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips as your heart stumbles in your chest.

“Don’t worry,” Austin says smoothly, his voice calm but tinged with something you can’t quite place. “She’ll be in good hands.”

Your heart thuds harder, and you quickly look down, pretending to focus on your plate as you try to calm your breathing. The rest of the meal passes in a blur, your mind spinning with the realization that you and Austin will be alone in the house together.

Early the next morning, as your parents kiss you goodbye and head out for their flight, you stand at the front door, watching their car disappear down the driveway.

As you turn back inside, your mind races with a mix of excitement and uncertainty, the house feeling bigger, quieter, and full of possibilities.

After finishing breakfast, Austin leans against the counter, drinking tea. His fingers tapping lightly against the mug as he looks out the window at the large pool.

Then he glances at you smiling warmly. “You want to swim?” he asks, his voice casual but inviting.

You hesitate, your cheeks flushing at the thought of being in a bikini around him, your heart racing as his attention lingers.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, his irresistible smile lighting up his face. “It’ll be fun. I promise I won’t splash you too much.”

You smile bashfully and look down as you nod. Unable to meet his gaze for too long, your emotions swirling with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

As you turn to leave, you can feel his eyes on you, warm and curious. He’s relaxed, but there’s an edge of something deeper to him—like he’s eager to see you in a way he hasn’t before.

Within five minutes, you’re stepping out to the pool, adjusting the straps of your bikini feeling painfully self-conscious.

Austin is already in the water, leaning casually against the edge, droplets glistening on his toned chest and shoulders in the sunlight. His swim trunks are low on his hips, and his hair is slicked back and wet, the look daring in a way that makes your heart race.

“There she is,” he says with a grin, shielding his eyes from the sun as he watches you.

His eyes linger as you slip into the water, the coolness a welcome relief against your flushed skin. Your movements feel awkward, and you keep your gaze down, sinking until the water covers you up to your chest as you sit on the steps.

“You coming over, or are you just gonna sit there by yourself?” he teases lightly, his voice warm and inviting.

You glance up briefly, your cheeks burning. “Oh—I was just…getting used to the water,” you reply quickly, though it’s his attention that makes you hesitate, but slowly you begin to swim toward him, treading across the large pool.

Your nerves skyrocket as you get closer, your heart pounding in your chest. He watches you with that soft, curious gaze, like he’s waiting for you to say something but your eyes look away.

You feel awkward—your movements uncertain, like you don’t quite belong in the water anymore. The weight of his gaze and the tension in the air make your chest tighten, and for a moment, you consider climbing right out of the pool.

But then he flicks a small splash of water in your direction, catching you off guard.

“Hey!” you squeal, your shyness breaking slightly as you splash back.

“Oh, so you’ve got some fight in you,” he says with a laugh, his grin widening as he dodges your retaliation.

Within moments, the tension shifts, replaced by laughter as the two of you start splashing each other playfully the awkwardness washing away as the water between you is filled with lighthearted chaos.

“Alright,” he says, shielding his face from another of your splashes. “Let’s see if you can actually beat me at something. First one to the other side wins.”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod, your heart thumping with anticipation.

You both push off the wall, your arms slicing through the water as you swim as fast as you can. You can feel him beside you, his movements strong and fluid making you push even harder to keep up. For a moment, it feels impossible to win, but somehow you manage to pull ahead.

You reach the other side first, gasping for air as you cling to the edge.

“I win!” you say, surprised and breathless, turning to him with a triumphant smile.

He leans against the wall beside you, smiling as he lets out a dramatic sigh of defeat.

“You beat me,” he says, his smile widening and for a moment his gaze lingers on you in a way that makes your stomach flutter.

The rest of the afternoon is light and carefree as the two of you lounge on pool floaties, laughter echoing across the water.

He playfully starts sending small waves your way, teasing you until you drift closer, then with a mischievous grin, he reaches out and tugs your waist, pulling you into the water with him.

Every touch and every brush of his hands on you feels exciting and playful, the tension from earlier fading, leaving only the exhilarating sense of being completely in the moment with him.

The two of you start playing a new game diving to the bottom of the pool to retrieve a small diving ring.

You race for it, your fingers brushing as you both reach it at the same time. Laughing and gasping for air, you surface together, water dripping from your faces as you hold the ring between you.

It’s only then you realize how close you are and the laughter fades, replaced by a charged silence as you stare at each other. The interest in his eyes is unmistakable as your heart pounds against your chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, his voice soft, and reverent, his eyes lingering on yours, deeper and more intense, before dropping to your lips.

His own part slightly, his breaths shallow, as if he’s thinking about closing the distance and kissing you.

Your stomach flips, and you quickly look away, trying to hide the heat rising in your cheeks. But the way his gaze stays on you it’s as if he already knows your shyness means you want him, and it makes your heart pound even harder.

Later that evening, after dinner, you find yourselves in the living room. You put on some music from your phone, scrolling through playlists as Austin refills his whiskey glass then comes over and nudges you lightly. “Let’s play a game,” he says, his voice smooth and inviting.

“Okay,” you say, placing your phone in the dock after finding the perfect playlist. Music plays softly through the speakers of the room as you join him on the plush couch. You sit next to him, cross-legged, curiosity piqued by the mischievous grin on his face.

“It’s called Never Have I Ever. Have you played it before?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his eyes locked on yours.

“No,” you say, shaking your head as you smile.

He leans forward, placing his drink on the end table, his voice low and playful as he explains, “It’s simple. We’ll take turns saying something we’ve never done to know each other better. If you’ve done it, you hold up a finger. If not, you don’t. First one to run out of fingers loses.”

You hesitate, shifting slightly on the couch, but eventually nod when the rules click into place. “Okay,” you say softly, your nervousness and curiosity mixing all at once.

He leans back, his grin easy. “I’ll go first …never have I ever skipped school.” He questions.

You slowly shake your head as you grin, keeping all your fingers down.

Austin smirks, lifting one of his hands and holding up a single finger.

You smile shyly, feeling a flicker of warmth at the thought of Austin as a rebellious teenager. He picks up his glass with his free hand, taking a slow sip.

“It’s your turn. Let’s see what you’ve got,” he says, setting it down, his relaxed posture making it look like he’s having far too much fun already.

You hesitate, then ask, “Never have I ever… been on a movie set.”

Austin’s lips quirk into a grin as he lifts another finger. “That one’s not fair,” he teases, leaning back against the couch. “I practically live on them.”

You grin with a playful glint in your eyes. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t count.”you retort.

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Your dad would probably say I’ve spent more time on sets than I have at home.”

You smile, tucking your knees under you as you look at him, the warmth of his tone settling into something deeper between you.

Austin’s gaze lingers on you, his grin softening into something more thoughtful, his eyes tracing your face as if he’s thinking of something.

Then he leans slightly forward toward you, resting his elbow on his knee. “Alright, my turn,” he says, his voice lowering just a little, making your pulse quicken.

“Never have I ever… fallen for someone I shouldn’t,” he says, his eyes locking on yours in a way that makes your breath catch.

Your heart races, your cheeks warming as you quickly look away, unsure how to respond. But then, almost instinctively, you lift a finger, your breath shallow as the weight of your confession hangs between you.

He smiles faintly, leaning back and studying you for a moment before lifting his finger as well. “Guess we both have that in common,” he admits softly, his words carrying a weight that makes your stomach flutter.

It’s your turn, but you hesitate before speaking, the question personal to him. Your voice is quieter than before as you ask him. “Never have I ever… had my heart broken.”

His expression shifts slightly, the teasing grin slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of something raw beneath it. Slowly, Austin lifts another finger, his eyes meeting yours with the weight of his recent breakup.

“Never have I ever… been in love,” he says, in retaliation, his gaze holding yours and your heart races again unsure how to answer with your feelings for him. “I-I don’t know,” you say, uncertain.

“There’s one way to find out,” he says with a grin, his posture is relaxed but his eyes remain intently on yours with an intensity beneath his casual demeanor.

“Never have I ever… been kissed,” he says, his tone dropping lower, the question lingering, far more intimate than the others.

Your cheeks burn as you squirm under his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest and when you don’t lift a finger his lips curve into a faint knowing smile.

He leans forward, gently taking your hand in his and before you can fully process what’s happening, he lifts two of your fingers.

There’s a quiet understanding in his eyes, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing and what it means.

Confusion clouds your mind for a brief moment, but the thought vanishes as his lips press softly against yours.

You are stunned, your mind racing until you every thought slips away, the passion in his kiss consuming you entirely.

He pours every unspoken feeling, every unspoken word, into the kiss, his clean, masculine scent intoxicating as it mingles with the faint sweetness of whiskey on his lips.

His hands find your jaw, strong yet gentle, tilting your face up to him as if to ensure you feel every ounce of what he’s giving. Each press of his lips sends a slow, burning heat coursing through your veins, igniting something deep and unstoppable.

When his lips part to deepen the kiss a tingling sensation floods your entire body as your hands instinctively grip the fabric of the couch.

A warmth you’ve never felt before spreads through you, the sensation is overwhelming and perfect, every moment of your first kiss making your heart pound.

His hands gently take your wrists, pulling you closer into the kiss, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

As his lips press against yours, he tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss even more.

A soft sound of pleasure escapes your lips, his kiss so enticingly good, so intoxicating, it feels like nothing else in the world matters.

It’s thrilling and all-consuming as you understand exactly what it means—you want him, you want to stay pressed against him, to keep feeling everything he’s making you feel, every touch and every moment pulling you closer to him in ways you can’t resist.

As his mouth overtakes yours, your heart hammers in your chest, each beat making your blood rush. The more you kiss him the more a soft ache begins to build deep in your core, spreading with the warmth through your body.

You’re trembling, your chest rising and falling faster, trying to make sense of everything you’re feeling as your hips begin gently moving in time with your uneven breaths.

The strange thrilling pressure builds tighter and tighter inside you, leaving you dizzy, your mind spinning as you instinctively kiss him harder.

Your thoughts whirl in a storm of emotions, and before you’re lost to it completely, Austin gently pulls back.

Your eyes meet his, searching, full of questions you can’t yet put into words. The air between you charged with an unspoken energy as he looks at you with a soft smile.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as his hand brushes against your cheek, his touch warm and grounding. His fingers lingering for a moment, his gaze reverent as if he’s memorizing the way you look in this moment.

“We’ll finish our little game later,” he says his voice soft and full of warmth as his thumb grazes your jawline. “I have a few more points I’d like to earn with you .” He smiles, his eyes trailing over your face.

You nod, even though you can’t fully process his words, your breath still uneven, your chest tight with emotions you can’t quite name. The warmth of his touch is soothing on your skin, and a part of you aches for him to stay closer, to keep looking at you like that.

“It’s late,” he says gently, his tone laced with care as his hand drops from your jaw, leaving you feeling a sudden, quiet emptiness where his touch had been. “We should get some sleep.”

Your eyes follow him as he stands, the space between you suddenly feeling far too wide, not wanting him to go, the warmth of his presence already starting to fade.

“Good night,” he says, his lips curving into a soft smile that seems to hold back more than it reveals.

His gaze lingers on you, warm and knowing, as if he’s fully aware of the way he’s just shifted something in your world, then softly he grins before heading to his room.

Realizing he’s leaving, you regain your thoughts and manage to call out after him, “Good night, Austin,” your voice far dreamier than you intended.

As you sit alone, your fingers brush over your lips, replaying every moment of his kiss in your mind. No matter how hard you try to reason with yourself, no matter how much you know this shouldn’t have happened, the warmth of his touch and the way he looked at you lingers, making it impossible to ignore the truth—

You’re completely and hopelessly in love with him.

You take a nice, long shower in your room, your mind filled with thoughts of him, your body feeling changed in ways you can’t quite explain. After drying off, you slip into a soft tank top and a matching shorts, then step into your fuzzy slippers.

The way he kissed you lingers in your mind, making you crave more—not just his touch, but the way he made you feel.

The thought of just being close to him consumes you, like it could somehow solve all your problems.

As you settle into bed, your mind races, the overwhelming urge to be with him building until you can’t resist it any longer.

Without a second thought, you slide out of bed and step into your fuzzy slippers.

Grabbing your phone, you use its faint light to guide you as you quietly pad down the hallway and descend the stairs.

Your heart pounds as you reach the guest side of the house, the hallway stretching out in front of you. The air feels heavy with anticipation as you approach his door.

You notice it’s already slightly open, the faintest glow of light spilling out into the hallway, and without thinking, you gently push it open.

The room is dark, but the soft glow of moonlight filters in through the window, illuminating his form on the bed.

He’s wearing a white tee, his chest rising and falling steadily, his features calm in sleep. You hesitate for a moment, your fingers gripping the doorframe as nerves twist in your stomach.

“Austin,” you whisper sharply, but he doesn’t stir.

You step closer to his bedside, a faint smile on your lips at how peacefully he sleeps.

“Austin,” you say again softly as you touch his arm. This time, he stirs, his eyes slowly blinking before they settle on you.

“Can I sleep in your room?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gives you a gentle sleepy smile and pats the bed beside him. “Of course,” he mumbles his voice tired.

He moves closer to the edge of the bed to allow space between you, his hand resting on the covers near him creating a subtle boundary.

By the time you pull the covers up to your chin, he’s already drifted back to sleep and slowly, you fall asleep too, feeling content just to be near him.

In the morning, the first rays of sunlight stream through the window, casting a golden glow across the room. You blink against the brightness, wanting to get up and close the drapes, but you freeze when you realize Austin is holding you.

His arm is draped around your waist, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the intimacy of his closeness sending a rush of both excitement and nerves through you.

Your cheeks flush as you wonder if it’s on purpose or simply by habit, but the closeness feels both thrilling and forbidden as you try to calm the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you.

For a moment, you lie still, unsure of what to do, but then the feeling of his steady breathing against your neck is so intimate that, slowly, almost instinctively, you press back into him, savoring the sensation of his body against yours.

It feels so good to be in his embrace that you close your eyes focusing on the comforting rhythm of his breathing until a hardness pokes insistently against you.

As first you don’t understand what could be resting so low between your thighs, until suddenly you realize —it’s definitely his cock.

A shaky breath escapes your lips as you try to shift away from it, but the movement only traps you further, the pressure rubbing tantalizingly between your legs. Your heart races, and you tell yourself to stop, but the sensation lingers, igniting something deep within you that you can’t ignore.

Before you can stop yourself your curiosity and attraction overpower the voice in your head telling you not to.

Slowly, carefully, you begin to move against him, the subtle motion sending waves of sensation through you. Your eye lids fluttering as the tip of him presses just right, drawing a soft sigh from your lips.

The feeling is intoxicating, the need growing stronger with every movement. You don’t fully understand why you want it so badly, but once you start, you can’t bring yourself to stop.

Each shift of your hips brings a new wave of pleasure, the ache inside of you is throbbing, demanding more.

Austin stirs slightly as your movements become more intentional, your body desperate for the release that hovers just out of reach.

His breathing shifts, deepening as his arm tightens instinctively around your waist. A low, raspy groan escapes his lips, his voice thick with arousal as it breaks the quiet.

“What are you doing to me?” he whispers, his tone both strained and reverent as his hand slides to your hip firmly guiding your movements to be more precise.

Soft cries begin to fall from your lips, each one blending with the haze of pleasure clouding your mind.

He presses against you, as you push against him until you’re practically whimpering, incoherent with a need to satisfy an ache you’re unable to reach, then suddenly —Austin stops.

The stillness leaves you trembling, your body desperate for the relief he’s stolen away.

Before you can protest, he shifts onto his back pulling you on top of him. Your cheek rests on his neck as his chest presses against yours, trapping his hard cock between your bodies.

You can feel the sheer size of him reaching all the way to your naval, his cock warm and firm as it pulses against you.

The ache between your legs throbs painfully against his shaft, your wetness soaking through your panties as you straddle him.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, his touch firm but tender, grounding you in the moment as his lips brush your ear.

“Keep going for me,” he whispers, his voice soft and filled with understanding , each word laced with encouragement that ignites something deep inside you.

A wave of warmth spreads through your core at his words, and slowly, you begin to move, rocking your hips back and forth, the friction soaking his shaft with your arousal.

The sensation is intoxicating, each stroke against his hardness heightening the throbbing need within you.

His hands lower to your waist, steadying you as you find your rhythm, the feeling of him guiding you intensifying the pressure making you whimper softly in his ear.

Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, your nails grazing his skin as you push harder against him, the ache transforming into an overwhelming sense of pleasure.

“Just like that,” he whispers, his voice strained with arousal as his hands slide down to your hips, gripping firmly as he guides your movements in to a deeper rhythm that sends shockwaves through your core.

Your breaths grow heavier, your mouth parting as moans spill freely from your lips, your mind clouding with bliss.

The wet friction between you grows more intense, every brush of his shaft against your sensitive clit making you tremble. Overcome by his touch and his words, you begin to move faster, grinding harder, the pleasure building so intensely it’s unbearable.

“Such a good girl,” he whispers, his voice full of praise as his hands tighten just enough to keep you steady. He lifts your hips slightly, helping you adjust your angle, and the new position sends a jolt of pleasure racing through your core. Your cries grow louder, more desperate, as he guides you closer to the edge.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders as your body moves instinctively, chasing the release that’s so close it makes you dizzy.

He holds you tighter, his hands guiding your movements with precision, ensuring every grind presses perfectly against him. His deep groans blend with your cries, his pleasure evident in the way his cock twitches beneath you.

“Come for me,” he whispers, his voice heavy with need as his hands firmly grip your hips, forcing you down on him harder. The intensity sends your body spiraling, your breath catching as you writhe in the throes of overstimulation.

You moan loudly, your pleasure building to an overwhelming peak as your thighs tighten squeezing on his waist.

With a sharp cry, you come, the release crashing through you so intense your arousal streams over his cock, soaking him all the way through his boxers.

Austin groans softly, his breathing uneven as he holds you in place until you ride out your orgasm, then his hands gently grip your waist as he carefully lays you back on the bed.

He shifts effortlessly, his movements controlled and patient as he lifts your legs with ease. He slides your panties off with a slow, teasing pull then he parts your thighs wide, settling between them.

His fingertips brush against your soaked entrance, and your hips buck up instinctively, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

He pauses, reading your reaction with tenderness, his thumb gliding over your trembling stomach, soothing the uncertainty that lingers within you.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promises, his voice low and filled with care, his eyes steady on yours and you nod slowly, your cheeks flushed with the heat of anticipation

His fingers glide through your wetness, his touch both teasing and mind-altering as he takes his time exploring every inch of you, savoring how soaked you are.

He slowly presses a single finger inside you, and you gasp, the sensation both foreign and thrilling as your body reacts to him without hesitation, arching toward his touch as a soft, desperate sound falls from your lips.

His fingers are long and skilled and the way he glides just one inside you with perfect precision sends waves of pleasure rippling through your body, making you lose your mind with every firm measured stroke.

He watches your reaction intently, his blue eyes fixed on every gasp and tremble, his lips curving into a grin as you bite your lip, your cheeks flushed with heat.

“Just one finger feels this good?” he asks, his voice filled with teasing admiration. When you nod wordlessly, his grin deepens, and he slowly adds a second finger. The delicate stretch makes you gasp, your hips instinctively lifting toward him.

The sensation of two fingers is almost too much, but his movements are slow and steady, coaxing your body to adjust to him.

The stretch sends surges of pleasure through you, and soft moans begin spilling from your lips as he strokes you from the inside, his fingers curling just right.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers, watching you intently, his fingers moving with precision, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing slow, deliberate circles.

The combined sensations push you higher, your breaths quickening as your body trembles beneath him, teetering on the edge. “You’re doing so well for me,” he praises, his gaze warm and full of pride.

Just as you’re about to come, he presses a third finger inside, the stretch making your mind reel as you let out a desperate cry, your hips bucking against his hand as your body clenches around him.

Your protests dissolve into soft cries as his pace increases, his fingers stretching and preparing you with delicate thrusts. Your stomach tenses beneath his palm, your body chasing the pleasure he’s coaxing out of you.

“Fitting my fingers so perfectly,” he coaxes, his voice a mixture of encouragement and awe. “Wait until I’m inside you,” he promises, his tone lowering as you begin to lose yourself.

His fingers move deeper, stroking you in ways that send shocks of pleasure through every nerve in your body. His thumb continues its rhythmic circles, and as the tension in your core builds to a breaking point, you lose yourself completely, crying out as you your walls flutter tightly, feeling a release soak his fingers.

“Such a good girl” he whispers, his voice soft and full of pride, as he slows his movements, helping you come down from the peak as his other hand brushes over your trembling stomach, soothing you.

“You did so well for me,” he softly praises as he slowly pulls his fingers out. He watches your body shudder in response, the way your thighs tremble beneath him drawing a satisfied smile to his lips.

“You want more, don’t you?” he asks, his voice low and full of promise, his blue eyes dark with desire as they lock onto yours.

Your breath hitches, the lingering sensation of his touch making your head spin, and without hesitation, you nod eagerly, your voice hushed but full of need. “Yes,” you whisper, the word slipping from your lips. “Please, yes.”

His smile deepens, his hand settling on the hem of his shirt. With one smooth motion, he pulls it over his head, revealing the hard lines of his chest and the strength in his shoulders. You can’t help but let your eyes wander, taking him in, your breath catching as your cheeks flush deeply from the sight.

His chest is broad and perfectly sculpted, his abs defined, each muscle catching the soft morning light. The way his body moves, effortless and confidently as he lowers his boxers, only makes the heat inside you burn hotter.

Your eyes lower instinctively, and your breath hitches as you see his cock. He’s thick and incredibly hard, the sheer size of him overwhelming, sending a surge of heat through your core with a mix of awe and fascination.

Austin notices your reaction and grins. “Don’t worry,” he says his tone filled with promise, “We’ll make it fit.”

His words make your face flush hotter, the confidence behind them igniting something deep within as your eyes linger on his perfect physique.

You don’t care how impossible it seems or how overwhelming it feels. You know, without a doubt, you want him.

Austin lowers himself on top of you, his body pressing lightly against yours as he rests on his forearm, his weight supported by his elbow.

His lips find yours first, soft and lingering, his kiss deepening as his hand moves between your bodies, gripping the base of his cock as he guides the thick head along your entrance.

The first push of his tip inside is enough to make your body tense and jump, breaking the kiss. He pauses immediately, his forehead resting gently against yours “We’ll go slowly,” he says against your lips, his tone filled with care.

He kisses you again, this time softer, his lips moving slow and reassuring, coaxing you to relax under his touch. His words and the tenderness of his kiss gradually melt away the tension, drawing you deeper into the moment.

As you get lost in his kiss, your body instinctively softens to him, and he takes his chance. As he presses forward again, the stretch is undeniable, the thick tip of his cock pushing deeper, making you gasp against his lips. He shifts slightly, resting both elbows on either side of you, supporting his weight to focus his penetration.

You feel the growing pressure as he pushes forward, the blunt head stretching you slowly, demanding your body adjust to him. As a moan spills from your lips as a soft breathy groan escapes him, the sounds of your pleasure blending perfectly.

“You’re so tight,” he whispers, his voice edged with restraint as he holds himself back, giving you time to adjust.

The stretch is overwhelming but intoxicating, a mixture of sensations so new and consuming you can’t focus on anything but him.

Your body clenches instinctively, and he stills immediately, his hand moving to your thigh. His thumb traces slow, soothing strokes over your skin, grounding you, his touch steady and tender.

“You’re doing so well for me.” he breathes, his voice thick with reassurance and desire. “Just a little more. I promise I’ll make it worth it.” He says and your eyes lock onto his as you softly nod.

He inches forward with painstaking care, his hips barely rocking as the pressure builds.

You make a high-pitched little cry, your head tossing back until his hand tilts your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Are you my girl?” He asks, his voice low and coaxing, his gaze locking onto yours as he pushes into you slowly, deeply.

Your lungs gasp as he stretches you beyond your capacity, a moan slipping out in a long, trembling sound as his words settle over you.

The pleasure makes your body tense up, your thighs quivering, the intensity of the moment overwhelming until it feels like you might cry.

“Mm —hhh —y-yeah,” is all you finally manage, the word spilling out in a shaky string of sounds, your body trembling as you clutch at the sheets beneath you.

“Yeah?” he repeats as he grins, his voice soft and full of approval. He presses another inch into you, his movements steady and intentional, savoring the way your body struggles to take him.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your temple. “You’re doing so well for me. So beautiful, so perfect.”

His hips press forward again, drawing a higher-pitched cry from your throat, and he smiles, his tone sweet and coaxing as he whispers, “It’s all in now”

He begins to thrust steadily and you take everything he gives. His breaths come in faster, deeper, as the sensation of your tightness begins threatening to overwhelm him. His jaw clenches, his body trembling with restraint as he pushes deeper, harder, his cock twitching inside you.

“Taking me so perfectly,” he rasps, his voice rough, barely controlled. He leans forward, his hand slipping to your waist as he shifts his angle, pulling back slightly before thrusting forward in a slow, deliberate motion that makes you cry out, your head falling back.

“Im so deep” he rasps, his words tense with restraint and awe as his hips roll forward again, pressing into you so completely it feels like he’s everywhere at once.

Your body quivers underneath him, your nails gripping the sheets as his new angle sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“I want you to be mine,” he breathes, his voice low and coaxing as he quickens his pace, his control slipping under the weight of his need.

“You’re all I want, your perfect,” he whispers, his eyes gazing into yours. His hips drive deeper, each thrust sending a shockwave of sensation through you, the ache sinking deep into your core in the most intoxicating way.

His hands slide to your waist, gripping firmly as he pulls you tighter against him, intensifying the connection between you. The relentless pressure leaves you gasping for air, your body trembling as you cling to him.

Your soft cries turn into desperate moans as the stretch and pressure drive you to the edge, your body tightening around him, making him groan. “Squeezing me..— so perfect..you’re so good to me.”he whispers, his tone trembling with intensity.

Your body reacts uncontrollably, clenching and quivering as waves of pleasure ripple through you, the heat building and spreading outward.

The sensation of him stretching you, filling you, and the way he thrusts into you, sends you spiraling.

He groans low and deep, his hips stuttering against yours, his breath catching. “S-so good, I—I’m gonna come,” he rasps, his voice barely coherent, breaking as he grips your hips tightly, anchoring himself to you.

Every sound he makes as his gaze locks onto yours is a raw testament to how much he’s losing himself in you. The pressure inside you peaks, the intensity of his need for you pushing you over the edge. You come undone, breathless, your body shuddering as your orgasm crashes over you.

“That’s my girl,” he says softly, his voice filled with reverence as he withdraws, his cock glistening. Your body quivers, your cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling rapidly as he kneels between your thighs, his hand wrapping around his base as he begins stroking his cock, his arm flexing faster with his movements as he watches you.

You can’t take your eyes off him, the way his brow furrows and his jaw clenches as pleasure overtakes him. His lips part, his breathing heavy, and you see every little shudder, every low groan, wishing it was you pulling those sounds from him.

Unable to resist, you guide his other hand to your mouth, your tongue swirling over the pad of his thumb as you suck it gently. His breath catches, his brow knitting tighter as he strokes his cock faster, spurred on by the sight of you. You suck more firmly, hollowing your cheeks, and with a loud groan, his body tenses.

He comes, his release spilling across your stomach as he climaxes, the silky warmth covering your navel while your thighs clench together in response.

He lets out a soft breathy sound as he empties every last drop on you, his chest heaving as he sluggishly grabs his shirt from the bed, carefully wiping you clean.

Once satisfied, he collapses onto the bed beside you and pulls you into his arms, holding you so close you melt against him, your body fitting perfectly to his.

Your breathing slows as the two of you lay together in comfortable silence until he tilts your chin up, his eyes meeting yours.

“You’re my girl now,” he whispers, his voice filled with warmth as his hand strokes your hair. “You’re perfect for me, you know that?”

You smile up at him, turning into some soft needy little thing, utterly lost in the way he looks at you.

His lips brush softly against your temple as he speaks, his voice warm and steady. “We have to tell everyone” he reveals and you freeze, your cheeks burning as you avoid his gaze.

“Austin…” you begin, your voice trembling, unsure of how to respond. “I don’t think I can. My parents would never allow it.”

He pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t want you to be my pretty little secret. I want everyone to know.” he says with certainty, gently sliding his hand to cup your cheek.

Your chest tightens, guilt mixing with fear as you shake your head. “You don’t understand,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “…M-my dad will kill you.”

Austin’s lips turn into a sly grin, his hand still cupping your cheek. “Your dad is my biggest fan,” he teases, his tone playful.

You blink at him, startled by his confidence. “Austin, I’m serious,” you insist, your voice trembling. “He’s very protective.”

“I know,” he says, his smile softening “But I want you.” He confesses, his thumb stroking your cheek as his gaze locks onto yours.

He pauses for a moment as he notices your worry and slowly interlaces his fingers with yours.

“I want you to be happy with me,” he says, his voice lowering, the vulnerability in his admission making your heart ache. “And I don’t want you to ever worry about what anyone else thinks,” he confesses, and as he looks into your eyes, his conviction is unmistakable.

The weight of his certainty presses against your hesitation, and you feel your defenses softening as you look at him.

Austin’s lips curve into a small, confident smile as his hand gently brushes your cheek.

“Your dad might be intimidating, but it’s because he loves you. And I’ll make sure he knows how much I care about you.”

For a moment, you let his words settle over you as you softly smile, the idea of being with him suddenly feeling less impossible. When Austin leans in to kiss your forehead, the warmth of his lips lingers, grounding you in a way you’ve never felt before.

His arms tighten around you as he holds you close and suddenly the idea of being with Austin shifts from fantasy into something real, something you could actually have.

The rest of the day passes in a haze of affectionate moments . By the pool, Austin sits on one of the lounge chairs with his camera, snapping photos as you lay relaxed on a pool float in the water.

“Turn toward me,” he says, his tone soft but commanding, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks through the lens.

You adjust your position, resting on your side the sun glinting off the water and casting a soft glow over your skin. The gentle waves lap around you, and the warmth of the sun mingles with the intensity of his gaze.

You love the way he looks at you—focused, attentive, like you’re the only thing that matters in that moment. His presence is magnetic, and every click of the camera feels like a quiet acknowledgment of how much he admires you.

After he lowers the camera, his lips curve into a knowing grin.

“You’re stunning,” he says softly, the words making your cheeks flush as warmth spreads up your neck.

He sets the camera aside and moves to sit on the pool’s edge, his feet dipping into the water. His eyes never leave yours, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he crooks his finger, beckoning you to come.

You hesitate for a moment, your nerves fluttering wildly, but his expression is gentle, patient. Bashfully, you lower yourself into the water, gliding toward him until you’re right in front of where he sits.

Without a word, his hands hook under your arms, firm yet gentle , and with an effortless pull, he lifts you out of the water and onto his lap. Droplets slide down your skin as his fingers brush over your cheeks, his gaze locking onto yours making everything else fade away.

He leans in his lips capturing yours in a kiss and your arms instinctively wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. As the warmth of his kiss envelops you his hands slides down your back, steadying you as his mouth delicately moves against yours, the connection making your heart race as your thoughts blur.

When he finally pulls back, you’re breathless, your chest rising and falling as his forehead comes to rest gently against yours. His smile is soft but filled with a quiet intensity, his eyes searching yours.

“I don’t want this to ever end,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, his words carrying a weight that leaves you speechless.

You sit there for a moment, wrapped in each others embrace, the surroundings fading as the connection between you grows impossibly stronger. The way he looks at you, as if you’re the only person in his world, making your heart swell with emotion as his words echo in your mind.

Later, after you’ve dried off, you invite him into your room.

The walls are adorned with your artwork—sketches, paintings, and studies of the little details you find beautiful in everyday life. A queen bed sits in the center of the room, covered with soft, inviting blankets and pillows that feel as comforting as a secret haven.

Nearby, your desk, a creative chaos of pencils, brushes, and half-finished drawings, sits under a large window overlooking the pool. The late afternoon light filters through, casting soft shadows across the room, giving your room a warm glow.

Austin steps inside, his gaze sweeping over the space as he smiles. “Your room is amazing,” he says, his voice filled with genuine admiration. He steps closer to the wall where your sketches are pinned, leaning in to study each one. “Have you drawn me yet?” He asks with flirtatious curiosity.

You shake your head, nervously. “I… I haven’t I wouldn’t even know where to start.” You say biting back a smile.

“Start now,” he says simply, as he sits on your bed his palms rested back. “Draw me.”

You sigh dreamily as you grab a sketchbook and settle at your desk. Austin sits across from you, his expression softening as he watches you work.

At first, you’re hyper-aware of his gaze, but as your pencil moves across the page, you lose yourself in the rhythm of creating, the lines and shadows taking shape of his beautiful face and neck.

You finish the drawing and hand it to him, your heart pounding as he takes it.

He studies it for a long moment, his expression unreadable, his eyes tracing every line and shadow with an intensity that makes your heart race.

Finally, he looks up at you, his voice soft but full of emotion as he grins. “This is incredible,” he says, holding the sketch as though it’s something precious. “I’m going to frame it at my house.”

You laugh softly, the sound bashful as you lower your gaze, “You love it that much?” You ask your cheeks warming under his attention.

“I love it that much,” he repeats, a grin breaking across his face.

Before you can say more, he leans closer, setting the sketch carefully aside as his hand brushes your cheek. His touch is warm, his thumb gently grazing your skin as he tilts your face up toward him, and then he kisses you.

His lips softly press against yours, and the world around you seems to blur until there’s only him. His hand slides to the back of your neck, as the kiss deepens, and your fingers instinctively clutch his shirt to steady yourself.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours, his eyes searching yours with a warmth that leaves you breathless. “Do you know how precious you are?” he asks, his voice filled with soft sincerity.

You look up at him dreamily, your heart fluttering as his words settle over you, his undivided attention making you feel treasured in the most thrilling way.

Dinner is a quiet affair, the two of you sharing smiles and affectionate glances as you eat. The sky outside darkens to deep indigo, the sounds of the night filling the air.

Austin leans back in his chair, his plate nearly empty, as he finally brings up the topic you’ve been avoiding. “Your parents arrive around eight tomorrow, right?” he asks, his voice calm but curious, his eyes studying you with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

You nod, absently pushing your food around your plate. “Yes…I’m so nervous” you reply softly.

Austin leans forward, his hand brushing yours lightly, drawing your gaze to him. “Don’t be,” he says, his voice steady, filled with quiet confidence. “I’ll be here.”he confirms, his thumb lingering against your knuckles.

The warmth in his words calms you slightly, though the thought of your father discovering your relationship with Austin still sends a wave of anxiety through you.

After dinner, as the table is cleared and the night winds down, Austin walks with you to the stairs. At the base he pauses, his hand brushing against yours.

“Good night,” he says softly and he leans in his lips brushing against yours, with a soft kiss.

When he pulls back, his hand remains on yours, his thumb stroking gently over your knuckles. “Sleep well,” he says, his voice low, and you nod, though your heart aches at the thought of parting for the night.

You don’t let go until the very last moment, your fingers reluctantly slipping from his hand as he heads to his room. It feels like a part of you is tethered to him by the quiet promise lingering in his gaze.

During the night you are unable to sleep, the silence of the house feeling oddly oppressive without him nearby.

No matter how many times you close your eyes, your mind drifts back to him, the emptiness of your room only amplifying the ache in your chest.

Finally, unable to rest, you slip out of bed in your pajama shirt stepping into your slippers and padding quietly downstairs to the guest hall.

The faint glow of moonlight filters through the hallway as you approach his room, the door slightly open and you push it gently, careful not to make a sound.

Austin is lying on his bed, propped up slightly against the headboard fingers interlaced on his chest, his face illuminated by the soft light spilling in through the window.

He’s awake, his gaze lifting to meet yours the moment you step inside. A small smile tugs at his lips, and he sits up slowly, the sheet slipping down to reveal his bare chest.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks softly, his voice low and warm.

You shake your head, unable to keep the small smile from your face. “No,” you admit quietly.

“Come here,” he says, his tone inviting as he pats the space between his legs.

Without hesitation, you cross the room and climb onto the bed straddling his lap. His hands wraps around your waist and before you can fully settle, his strong hands guide you back onto the mattress the sheet falling away to reveal he’s already naked.

His touch is gentle as he pulls your oversized shirt over your head, his palms warm as they press against your hips, holding you steady. “I missed you,” he whispers, lips softening into something deeper as his gaze meets yours, and the intensity taking your breath away.

Your heart is pounding as he slowly shifts, his body gliding down the bed with purpose. His hands slide over your thighs, spreading them just enough as his lips trail kisses along your skin, every touch a mix of tenderness and fire. When his face lowers between your legs, you feel a nervous thrill, your pulse racing so fast you’re certain he can hear it.

The first touch of his mouth is euphoric, a sensation so overwhelming that your hips tilt instinctively toward him, seeking more.

You gasp, your fingers curling into the sheets as his lips and tongue move with a precision so pleasurable it makes you dizzy. Each flick of his tongue against you is delicate and perfect, his focus unwavering, leaving you trembling under the weight of his attention.

The rhythm he sets is slow and unhurried savoring every soft moan, every shiver you give him. His mouth moves against you skillfully as he flicks his tongue, coaxing sounds from you that you didn’t know you could make, and just when you think you can’t take any more, he slips one fingers inside.

You moan as he glides it in and out slowly testing your limits, his gaze flickering up to meet yours.

Your breath hitches and your hips tilt instinctively toward him wanting more. His lips curve into a slight, satisfied grin before he adds a second, his fingers working in a steady rhythm that sends your thoughts scattering.

His tongue flicks your clit as you cling to the sheets and just when your body begins to adjust, he slides in a third finger. The stretch is intense, the ache intoxicating, so much so that it’s almost too much to handle.

His fingers curl inside you perfectly as his tongue continues its relentless focus, leaving you trembling. Every nerve feels alive, every sensation heightened as the pressure builds into something overwhelming and utterly consuming.

You’re completely lost in the pleasure he gives, your walls fluttering tightly around his fingers as the tension builds into something unstoppable. It’s mind-numbing, as the world falls away and there’s only him and the way he’s making you feel.

As you orgasm, it’s intense and all consuming and your fingers desperately tangle in his hair, holding him close as he guides you through every last shiver from your body.

You can barely catch your breath, your mind blissfully blank as he looks up at you, his grin softening into something tender, almost reverent.

He slowly rises, his hands resting on your trembling thighs, his thumbs brushing the soft skin as if grounding you. “Are you tired now?” he teases, his voice rich with affection, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

You shake your head no as you grin, unable to form words as your chest rises and falls, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through you. The intensity in his gaze makes your pulse quicken all over again, your body already craving for more.

“Of course you’re not tired,” he mutters with a sly grin, shifting slightly. He balances himself on one of your thighs, his hand moving between his legs as he presses his cock against you, teasing just enough for you to feel him as he positions himself.

You shudder at the sensation, his hardness brushing against your slick warmth, nudging insistently at your entrance. The anticipation coils tightly within you, your breath catching as you feel the pressure building.

He pauses, looking down at you, his free hand brushing your hair back with a tenderness that contrasts the intensity of the moment as his eyes search yours, his gaze deep and steady.

“You ready for me?” he asks, his voice low, almost reverent, as he lowers down, his forearms resting on either side of your head.

You manage a small nod, unable to form words as your chest rises and falls under his gaze and he smiles at your response, his lips finding yours in a kiss so soft and passionate it coaxes you to relax beneath him.

As he breaks the kiss, his focus shifts, and slowly, carefully, he begins to press forward. The tip of him pushes inside, the stretch so tight it steals the air from your lungs and he stops, giving you a moment to adjust.

“Its okay,” he whispers, his voice soothing as his hand cups your face. “Just breathe.” His touch steadies you, his patience evident as he inches forward, the pressure intensifying with every slow movement.

The sensation is overwhelming, your body accommodating him bit by bit, the fullness he creates returning just as intense.

He leans down, kissing you again, this time slower, deeper, grounding you in the connection as he presses further, claiming you completely. His jaw clenches, a groan escaping him as he grips your hip with one hand, steadying himself.

“You feel incredible,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “So tight… so perfect.”

You whimper, your body adjusting to the overwhelming sensation as every inch of him fills you completely. He presses his hips against you and it feels like too much, his cock stretching you in ways that leave you breathless your hands clutching at his shoulders.

He rests his forehead against yours his voice breathless. “You take me so well,” he whispers, his lips brushing yours. “I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you.”

As he begins to gently thrust your tightness gives way to a pleasure so profound it steals the air from your lungs. His hips roll in a slow, deliberate rhythm, each drag of his cock pulling a moan from your lips. The way you clench around him makes his control falter and he presses deeper, each movement more desperate than the last.

“You’re perfect,” he groans, his eyes locked onto yours, his voice rough with emotion. “So perfect for me.”

The connection between you is overwhelming, his gaze holding yours as your bodies move together. Every deep thrust sends waves of sensation through you as you moan beneath him. His hand slips between you, his thumb finding your clit making your back arch and your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Austin,” you gasp, your voice trembling as your pleasure peaks and he catches your gaze, his intensity pulling you under. “I’m so close,” he whispers, his voice shaky. “I love what you do to me.” He says breathlessly.

His head falls forward, his chest brushing against yours as he thrusts harder, his breath comes in ragged, uneven gasps. His jaw clenches then his lips part slightly as a deep, guttural groan escapes him.

His hips press against you, grinding in a rhythm that’s desperately possessive, his body driven by pure need. You can feel every ounce of his restraint slipping away as he buries himself deeper, the way he moves filling you so completely it leaves you in a state of euphoria.

When his eyes meet yours, his expression is pure, unguarded passion—his lips parted slightly, as his muscles tighten with the effort of holding back, savoring every last second of your pleasure together. The dilated pupils in his blue eyes burn with intensity, a mix of devotion, hunger, and raw vulnerability that makes your heart stutter.

You immediately reach for him, your hands gently cupping his face as you pull him down to you. Your lips crash together in a kiss that’s fiery and unrelenting, his thrusts never faltering as his mouth claims yours. It’s all-consuming, a fusion of passion and connection that sends shivers through your entire body.

His groan vibrates against your lips, his hands tightening their grip on your hips as he matches the rhythm of his kiss to the rhythm of his body, leaving you lost in him, every thrust drawing you closer together.

The moment is so intimate that it pushes you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you as your body clenches around him, and the satisfying little moans you make become his undoing.

His rhythm falters as he buries himself fully, his body shuddering against yours. He holds you tightly, his face buried in your neck as he reaches his peak, his groans mingling with your soft cries.

With a sharp, regretful groan, he quickly slips out of you, his body trembling with the effort to hold back even a second longer. The loss of your tight warmth around him makes him falter, his forehead falling against your shoulder as his hand wraps around his cock.

“I wish I could stay inside you,” he rasps, his voice thick with longing and frustration, every word dripping with the truth of how much he wants you completely. But as his release overtakes him, his restraint crumbles, and his hand moves with desperate intensity.

The first rush of come spills onto your skin, his groan turning guttural filled with unrestrained pleasure and then he gasps, as his body shudders, his release painting you in warm streaks.

You watch his expression torn between adoration and a flicker of longing, his breathing uneven as the last waves of pleasure wash over him.

As he comes down his hand strokes above the mess he’s made, “I’ll always want to be inside you” he says reverently, and then he leans down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, his other hand tracing soothingly over your thigh.

He leaves the bed only for a moment returning to carefully wipe you clean. Then he climbs in beside you resting you against him as he holds your hand in his.

For a moment, neither of you move, your bodies perfect against each other, the connection between you so profound it leaves you both speechless. Slowly, he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours with a look so full of tenderness it makes your heart ache.

“You’re everything to me,” he whispers, brushing a kiss against your forehead, his hand gently stroking your hair. “Everything.”

The next morning, sunlight streams into the room, but you don’t mind. You’re curled up against Austin’s chest, completely content, his steady heartbeat a soothing rhythm against your ear. You’d fallen asleep without even realizing it, and now, wrapped in his warmth, the rest of the world feels a million miles away.

It isn’t until you hear the sound of a car doors slamming outside that your eyes snap open, panic flooding your veins. You sit up quickly, your heart pounding as you recognize the voices coming from downstairs—your parents.

“Where are they?” your dad’s stern voice echoes through the house, commanding and sharp.

“Honey, we’re back” your mom calls sweetly, her tone soft but expectant.

You turn to Austin, wide-eyed and terrified, clutching the blanket to your chest. “They’re home,” you whisper, your voice shaking.

Austin stretches lazily, an amused grin spreading across his face as though this is all some sort of game. “Relax,” he murmurs, his fingers trailing gently down your arm. “I’ll stall for you.”

He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before pulling on his sweats and a white tee.

As he leaves the room you scramble to put your clothing back on, fumbling with your top as you hear Austin down the hall, calm and collected.

“Good morning, wow you guys must be exhausted I’ll definitely start the espressos” he says casually, and you can picture him grinning as though nothing is out of the ordinary.

By the time you manage to creep upstairs, you dive into your bathroom, turning on the shower just as your mom’s soft knock sounds on your door.

“Sweetheart? Come downstairs when you’re ready,” she calls.

“Okay!” you reply loudly, trying to sound as normal as possible while your heart pounds in your chest.

You take a quick shower to calm your nerves, pulling on fresh clothes and towel-drying your hair as fast as possible before heading downstairs.

As you enter the kitchen you can’t even bring yourself to meet your father’s eyes and instead, you rush over to your mom, giving her a quick hug.

Austin is seated at the table, espresso in hand, grinning like he doesn’t have a care in the world. His relaxed demeanor only heightens your anxiety as you glance nervously at your dad, who watches you closely, his espresso hovering midair.

“Everything go well while we were gone?” He asks, his tone casual but his sharp gaze narrowing slightly.

You swallow hard and nod quickly. “Y-yeah. Everything was fine,” you stammer, feeling your cheeks burn.

“Why are you acting all skittish?” he asks, his brow furrowing as his eyes look you over clearly mulling over your flustered state.

Your stomach twists, and you feel like bolting from the room until Austin, grins and says, “She kept staying up past her bedtime.”

Your mom and dad exchange amused looks as they chuckle softly. Your dad shakes his head, pulling you into a quick hug. “I missed you, kid,” he says gruffly, and for a moment, the tension eases as you hug him back.

The rest of the day feels like a balancing act. You and Austin join your parents for breakfast as they recount stories from the film festival, but your mind is elsewhere, constantly on edge as Austin runs his hand along your thigh under the table, squeezing gently enough make you breath catch.

After breakfast as you’re putting the ingredients away in the pantry, he slips in behind you carrying a loaf of bread. His presence mischievous as he leans close“Can I tell them yet ?” He whispers.

You’re stunned and before you can answer, he kisses your lips, lingering just a second too long. You push at him, trying to keep your composure, but you grin your heart racing as he slips out, leaving you flustered.

Later, as you walk past the living room, you catch Austin and your dad deep in conversation about an upcoming project.

Your dad is at the bar cart, pouring drinks, while Austin sits back in one of the leather armchairs, his posture relaxed, one ankle resting on his knee.

You try to walk through quietly, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself, but but as you pass by Austin’s chair his hand brushes against your hip, squeezing it firmly.

Your breath catches, your entire body tensing as heat rushes to your face. Austin grins at your flustered state, his hand settling back casually on the armrest as though nothing happened.

Your dad pauses mid-sentence, his words hanging in the air as he turns slightly, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to figure out what just happened.

Austin, unfazed, leans forward slightly in his chair, drawing attention back to himself. “You still thinking about filming in the fall?” he asks smoothly.

Your dad grunts in agreement, nodding as he turns back to pour the second glass. “Seems like a good time for it—less competition for the filming location.”he says, distracted again.

Taking the opportunity, Austin turns his head toward you, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he mouths, Now?

You shake your head frantically, your eyes wide, a mix of panic and disbelief flashing across your face. He grins, clearly enjoying your reaction, and you scurry off, your heart pounding as you make it to the safety of the hallway.

The sound of their conversation fades behind you, but the moment lingers, leaving you breathless and more flustered than ever.

The mix of nervousness and thrill leaves you on edge, every small interaction with Austin feeling like a dangerous yet irresistible game.

In the evening the dining room buzzes with lively conversation, the large round table set elegantly under a soft glow.

The scent of roasted vegetables and herbed chicken fills the air as your mom recounts a story from their trip, her voice animated as laughter ripples around the room.

You sit quietly, unable to focus. Every glance at Austin sends your thoughts spinning. He’s seated beside you, the warm glow of the room making him look ethereal like he’s stepped of a portrait, effortlessly perfect.

As he listens to your parents, he takes a sip of wine, his gaze flicking to you with a grin that makes your heart race.

Your breath catches when his hand brushes against your thigh as he sets his glass down. His fingers linger for a moment before he takes your hand in his, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. Your gaze meets his, and he offers you a soft, reassuring smile.

And then, to your utter shock, he brings your joined hands up, placing them deliberately on the table in full view of your parents.

The clinking of silverware stops and the room falls into a sudden, deafening silence.

Your father freezes mid-sip of his wine, his sharp, commanding gaze locking onto your intertwined hands.

“I knew it!” he exclaims, his loud voice heavy with an intensity that makes you flinch. The words echo in the room, and your heart sinks as fear knots your stomach. You stare at the polished wood of the table, cheeks burning, your hand trembling in Austin’s grasp.

You can’t bring yourself to look up, the weight of your guilt suffocating. Your mind races, bracing for his anger and disappointment.

But then Austin’s grip tightens slightly signaling you to look up.

Slowly, hesitantly, you lift your gaze, expecting the worst. Instead, you’re met with a sight that leaves you stunned.

Your father’s face is flushed, his cheeks red—not with anger, but with a wide grin spread across his face. His dark eyes, so often stern and unreadable, gleam with unmistakable pride.

“I knew you two had it in for each other!” your dad yells with a loud laugh that fills the room. “I told you, honey,” he adds, nudging your mom as he pushes his chair back and stands.

His imposing presence, which always made him seem larger than life, is now softened by overwhelming joy.

Your breath escapes in a shaky rush, the tension in your chest melting away as relief floods through you. Your dad comes around the table, his gruff demeanor cracking entirely as he claps a hand on Austin’s shoulder, then pulls him up into a quick, firm, heartfelt hug.

“I’ve been rooting for this all along,” your dad admits, his voice gruff but filled with warmth. “If it had to be anyone, I’m glad it’s you, Austin.”

Austin smiles, a rare bashfulness showing through. “She’s in good hands,” he says, his tone steady but full of quiet conviction.

Your dad’s gaze softens further as he places a hand on your shoulder. “This brings me so much joy,” he says sincerely, his smile unwavering as he looks at you both with pride.

Austin glances at you, his eyes shining with warmth and affection, and you feel the world tilt slightly, your heart pounding in your chest.

Your mom claps her hands together, breaking the moment. “Come on, honey, let’s have a toast—our daughter is dating Austin Butler!” she exclaims, laughing in delight as she reaches for the wine bottle to pour another round.

As Austin sits back down beside you, he squeezes your hand on the table, your fingers intertwining with his as he leans in, placing a soft affectionate kiss on your cheek.

Gazing into his eyes you feel a sense of gratitude and relief wash over you, and for the first time, you let yourself fully believe what Austin has known all along: you’re meant to be

���End

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[ylangelegy]

unadulterated loathing! 🪄 mingyu x reader.

madame moribble's sorcery seminar has space for only two students this semester. you're forced to make a case for yourself with the one person you despise the most: kim mingyu.

★ shiz university students!mingyu x reader. ★ smau with some fic work. word count for the fic: 2,800~ ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: modern shiz university, inspired by wicked, academic rivals, forced proximity, use of pet names, feelings realization/denial. cussing/name-calling in the spirit of bickering. this only draws from the setting of the wicked, so the given plot (i.e. wicked witch) doesn't exist here; prior knowledge of wicked is not necessary to understand the story. title is from what is this feeling. ★ footnotes: wrote this in one deranged sitting, but this is an early christmas gift for my favorite gyuldaengie, @maplegyu! 🎁 not quite the fiyero!mingyu agenda we have, but still in the same verse. ilysb. ♡

Mingyu has spent the better half of his years in Shiz going toe to toe with you.

It's to be expected, really. The two of you are the brightest of your age, tearing through your academics with ruthless precision. He always raises his hand in class. You can recite book passages word for word.

Both of you are hard to ignore, and neither of you are about to back down.

This application for the coveted Sorcery Seminar is yet another curveball that you two must navigate. You would think that after the disastrous Life Science group work in freshman year— or the Runes incident in sophomore year— that the higher-ups would know better than to force you and Mingyu into any sort of proximity.

But Madame Morrible seems intent on getting the last laugh, and Mingyu will go down swinging, if he must.

That doesn't mean he can't have a little fun, though. He shows up at the Quad at exactly five in the afternoon, making his leisurely way towards you. Everything about him is seemingly perfect. His pressed, navy blazer. His coifed dark hair.

Even the way he carries himself— practically swaggering to where you're waiting, less-than-amused— has people making way for him.

"Why the long face?" Mingyu asks sweetly in lieu of a greeting.

Your answer is curt, bordering cold. "Nothing."

Youch. "Ice queen," Mingyu mumbles under his breath as he settles onto the bench next to you.

You shoot him a glare. He flashes you a winning smile.

This was the nature of your 'relationship', or admitted lack thereof. It was a push-and-pull of Mingyu getting on your nerves every so often, of him testing how far he can draw it out before you crack.

You had your moments, though, where you could also drive him up the metaphorical wall. Like this afternoon, for instance.

You talk over him more than once. You shoot down every single idea he proposes. And you keep shifting restlessly— prompting your knee to bump into his, your elbow to hit his ribs.

When you accidentally step on the tips of his shoes in your animated, passionate denial of his nth concept, Mingyu has had just about enough.

His hand darts out until his fingers are wrapped around your wrist. Not to bruise or control, just to draw your attention to all your exaggerated movements.

"Could you stop that?" he hisses, his eyes flashing with annoyance. "I swear to the Wizard, I'm going to come out of this meeting battered and bruised."

You coo at him in retaliation, your voice sickly sweet. "Aw, what is it? Gyu-Gyu of Gillkins can't handle a little roughhousing?"

Oh, it's like that? Mingyu lets out a derisive huff before dropping your hand. You give him the small concession of scooting a bit further down the bench, putting some much-needed distance between the two of you.

Mingyu's not about to let your little jab slide, though. "You talk big game for someone who goes running in the other direction whenever there's a spider around," he says wryly.

Your response is defensive, sending the two of you shuttling down your typical back-and-forth. "That was one time! Might I remind you that you once thought river fairies were mayflies?"

"Bringing up stuff from freshman year, huh? I vaguely recall you mixing up Bunbury and Bunnybury for years—"

"You still can't cast a half-decent Alarte Ascendare charm—"

"And your voice cracks whenever you try to hit the high note in Dear Old Shiz—"

"Okay, enough!"

Mingyu presses his lips tight in a poor attempt to hide his smirk. Your expression is positively murderous, contorted in one of sheer annoyance.

No, annoyance is too light of a word, too generous of a feeling. Your flushed face and Mingyu's jackhammer pulse are not mere products of some petty vexation, some harmless flirtation.

It's unadulterated loathing. True, deep loathing; total detestation.

You loathe Mingyu, and Mingyu loathes you.

As you pull the plug on your short-lived brainstorming session, marching off towards your dormitory with a dramatic flourish, Mingyu can't help but revel in the feeling. He feels like he just ran a damn marathon, all from spending twenty minutes of bickering with you.

Odd as it may seem, Mingyu has never felt so alive.

Even though you don't say it, Mingyu knows you think his idea is good.

He can see it in your acquiescence, in the way you let him run his mouth just a little more. He wants to preen over getting this little upper-hand, no matter how insignificant it may be. The two of you are working on something he suggested.

You can call him all the nasty names in the book, but your begrudging acceptance is like a trophy to him.

It's why he's so cheery as the two of you reconvene to flesh out the project. You're benevolent enough to let Mingyu wax poetics about cursed objects being integral to Oz's landscape, though you keep him from rambling when he tries to position himself as the more brilliant one between the two of you.

"Don't get cocky," you warn as you lay out the material you'll be working on for the day.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Mingyu shoots back, though he does give in and shut up for once. He's not about to push his luck. It's only half-time, after all, and he has a whole lot more of winning to do.

The two of you had agreed on flowers. For a moment, neither of you do anything about the assortment of blooms laid out on the desk in front of you. It takes Mingyu a beat too long to realize that you're looking up at him.

"What?" His free hand— the one not holding his practice wand— reaches up to his cheek. "Is there something on my face?"

The unamused glare you give him almost makes him chuckle.

"It was your idea," you point out. "So you start us off."

Ah. Mingyu knows you'll tear him a new one if he tells you the truth, which is that he didn't really think he'd get this far.

He was fully prepared for the two of you to disagree until the deadline, or to perhaps start groveling at Madame Morrible's feet for a new partner.

With this half-baked idea, though, the two of you are more likely to have to see this affair to completion.

"Right." Mingyu squares his shoulders, eyeing the flowers atop the table. "I suppose we could, er, start with some basic curses."

There's a Cheshire cat-like grin on your face that Mingyu doesn't like one bit. He steels himself for the blow, which inevitably lands in you saying, "You have no idea what we're supposed to do."

He scrunches up his nose in an expression of mock displeasure. "We're going to show off practical knowledge of enchantments," he rattles off. "Provide insight into the ethical implications of magical creations. Equip sorcerers with problem-solving skills necessitated by—"

You cut into Mingyu's tirade with a dismissive wave of your own wand.

"Blah, blah, blah," you drawl. "Ethics, insight, got it. But application? What about that, Kim?"

Mingyu has to bite back a curse from slipping past his lips. You're so infuriating. He wants to wipe that smug look off of your face, though he isn't exactly sure how he might go about that just yet.

"Maybe you want to contribute something," he grumbles, his lower lip jutting out in an almost-pout. "I already came up with the idea of the project, sweets."

Anyone else who might've been on the receiving end of Mingyu's pet names might have swooned. You always bristled, acting like he had uttered something vile.

Today, you remain perfectly unperturbed, content to have Mingyu squirm as you roll up the sleeves of your school blouse.

"Watch and weep," you say, your wand poised over the flowers.

There's nothing Mingyu hates more, really, than the reminder of just how good you are. The two of you were academic monsters to begin with, though you had your respective strengths and weaknesses. Mingyu excelled in theories; you dominated practice.

In some alternate universe, the two of you might have been an unstoppable duo. As it is, though, Mingyu can only hope that your fragile truce will hold long enough to secure you both that class slot.

He tries his darndest to keep his awe at bay as you mumble incantations. The curses you leave on the flowers seem to be mostly minor.

The daisy's leaves begin to flutter like propellers. The carnation starts to rapidly change colors. The rose goes through a constant process of wilting and rebirth, the dried petals pooling on the table with each cycle.

When Mingyu steals a glance at you, he notices the sweat beading your temples. Magic took a lot out of a person, and to cast three spells in a row was no joke.

"First, we should do a magical construction analysis." Your voice is a little tighter, a little more strained. Probably from the exhaustion. "And then a de-cursing process. Strategies and techniques for reversing or neutralizing the curse."

You go on to talk about how your demonstration for Madame Morrible should go— something about a live reversal or containment of a curse, and a detailed explanation of their findings— but Mingyu is only half-listening.

His eyes keep flitting to your quivering fingertips. His own hands twitch in his lap.

It's a sudden feeling. It's a new feeling.

Mingyu never thought he'd care for you, and yet here he is with his aborted attempt to reach out, to soothe, to comfort.

In between piles of schoolwork and preparations for the demonstration, Mingyu hardly has any time to notice the shifts in your relationship. You don't seem any the wiser, either, which is saying something. You tended to have a better emotional quotient than his overdramatic self, anyhow.

But there are shifts. Small changes in the day to day that are imperceptible to the less-discerning eye.

The two of you remain cutthroat in the classroom, drawing your peers' ire with your relentless rivalry. Behind closed doors, though, there's something more akin to… civility?

Mingyu wouldn't dare call it friendship. He's not that naive. He just knows there's an ounce of kindness, now. Some self-imposed restraint, some begrudging respect.

As the two of you move on to executing more complicated curses, the changing dynamic bears down in the most glaring ways.

"Enough."

The word comes out as a wheeze, but Mingyu injects it with just enough authority to have you pause. You don't look any better than he does. You're folded in half, your hands resting on your knees as you try to catch your breath.

The spell that neither of you could conjure just yet involved a hand mirror and an ancient curse. So far, all the two of you have managed is to make the mirror sing.

"Let's— take a break," Mingyu offers.

Your response is to be expected. "I don't need a break. I need to get this stupid curse right."

A muscle in Mingyu's jaw jumps. He stares down at you with a look of sheer incredulity, and you only return his glare with a defiant one of your own. Someplace else— with someone else— the electricity crackling between the two of you might have been sexual tension.

Alas, Mingyu knows it's nothing more than your shared animosity.

… Right?

He breaks the silence with a mumble of, "I need a break. Give me five minutes."

Honestly, Mingyu could keep going. He thinks he has it in him to try and cast the spell a couple more times, but he's willing to look weak if it means getting you to pause.

You don't even have a snappy retort or a smartass insult to his declaration. All you give is a jerky nod of your head before you lumber off towards the nearest chair in the otherwise-empty classroom. A peculiar expression flashes across Mingyu's face as he watches you walk, almost like every step that you take is an effort. You miss the look in favor of practically collapsing on to one of the desks.

"Wizard Almighty," Mingyu cusses lowly. He reaches your side in a couple of strides, though he pauses with his hand hovering over your shoulder.

At the last moment, he clenches his hand into a fist and draws back.

"Is this seminar class really worth dying for?" he muses, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

"I'm not— dying," you choke out. "I just need— a—"

There's an edge of exasperation in Mingyu's tone. "You need a break. It's just me. You can admit that."

Before you can shoot back, Mingyu wanders off to his backpack. He digs through it for a moment before he can procure his water bottle, which he wordlessly places onto the desk you're on.

You give a quiet sound of appreciation before uncorking the bottle and taking a long swig. The rehydration seems to invigorate you in the slightest, enough for you to straighten to your full height. Mingyu holds back on teasing you over the way you've emptied his drink.

The first words you say after you've caught your breath are "It's because it's you."

Mingyu's eyebrows knit together in confusion. He tilts his head to one side, looking every bit like the confused puppy he's often likened to. "Pardon?"

"You said— I can admit that I need a break, because it's just you." You place Mingyu's water bottle down, your hands bracing the edge of the desk as you speak. You're looking up at Mingyu, but you're not quite looking at him. It's like your gaze is fixed on something just beyond his line of sight, and it hits him that you're avoiding his gaze.

You clarify, "I didn't want to admit that I needed a break to you."

His immediate reaction is to protest. To laugh and call you stupid, to question your faulty logic. But when Mingyu's lips part, the insult at the very tip of his tongue—

He finds that his words are just out of reach.

Because, for better or for worse, he understands where you're coming from. The two of you have exploited each other's weaknesses, have poked and prodded holes into each other's defenses. Why should this be any different?

There's an inexplicable twinge in Mingyu's chest. A tangible, physical tightening, over the spot where his heart is.

He had wanted it to be different. He doesn't know why, but he thought that this might make things different.

Instead, he manages to push out a heatless, "Right. That adds up."

Neither of you say anything for a while. The five-minute break stretches into seven, then ten. Right before the fifteen-minute mark, you say, "I think we should call it a day."

Mingyu— who has spent the past quarter of an hour trying to untangle his thoughts— jumps at the suggestion.

"Definitely," he says a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah, yeah. Let's… tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow. Same time?"

"Got it."

You gather your things and begin to make your way out of the classroom. Mingyu moves a little slower, not wanting to have to prolong any conversation if the two of you were to leave together.

He thinks he'll never have an answer to the question clanging in his mind until you pause halfway out of the door.

"Kim Mingyu."

He freezes in the middle of adjusting his bag strap over his shoulder. "Hm?" he hums, trying his best to act noncommittal even though his entire posture is already defensive in nature.

The sight of it seems to amuse you, because the ghost of a smile tugs at your lips. It's not a smile that you've ever given him. He's seen it in the corner of his eye, witnessed you dole it out to underclassmen and friends. And maybe he's always been a bit envious, a bit desperate to be on the receiving end of it.

Now that he is, he feels like he just got punched in the gut.

"Thank you," you say.

Plain, simple, unadorned. No explanation. It could be grace for the water. Grace for the break. Grace for the partnership. Mingyu doesn't know, doesn't care. He'll take what you have to give.

His mind tries to conjure the perfect response, one that might have you feeling the same way that he is. No problem or you're welcome or it's just me, sunshine.

What he eventually settles on is an exhale of "Always."

He wants to kick himself for it. Who the hell says 'always' to 'thank you'? a chiding voice screams in the back of his head. What does that even mean?!

He winces outwardly. Your smile widens slightly, just enough to throw him off balance once again.

And then you're gone, your footsteps echoing down Shiz' hall, leaving Mingyu with the answer.

Mingyu loathed you in theory, but in practice? Well.

He's so caught up in trying to unpack his realization that he nearly misses the quiet ping of his phone in his pocket.

[munson-blurbs]

Hehe for since you asked for fluffy smut, what if reader has had a long day at work and Eddie maybe fixes a bubble bath and they take one together, but then it gets a lil frisky

Is this more smut than fluff? Yes. Am I apologizing for it? Nope.

Collab with @corroded-hellfire who is once again the only reason there's any fluff at all.

CW: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), roommate!Eddie, accidental boners, grinding, lots and lots of touching, mention of oral (f) WC: 1.9k

Home might have been a tiny, two-bedroom apartment that perched above the heart of Hawkins, but at the end of a long shift, it’s Heaven. 

You kick off your shoes; apparently they’re one of the most supportive brands, according to the other waitresses, but your feet still ache. 

The throbbing in your feet is nothing compared to the roaring pain that inflames your lower back. Just pressing the heel of your palms into it makes you wince and groan. 

“You okay?” Eddie calls from his room. You hear him fumbling to put away his guitar before you can even reply. 

The door swings open and he stands there, posture sagging when he sees how beaten down you look. Whatever makeup you had applied that afternoon had long faded, and the stains on your apron certainly added the finishing touch. 

Eddie, meanwhile, is refreshed—infuriatingly so. Today was his day off, and though he put in a lot of work the other six days of the week, you still yearned for the well-restedness that had him bounding over to you. 

“Bubble bath?” When you two had first moved in together, he used to try and talk to you about your day. He took it personally when you retreated to your room without glancing in his direction. But now he knew that you talk when you regain your energy. And there’s no shortage of gossip after eight hours at Benny’s. 

You nod, offering him as much of a grateful smile as you can muster. “That would be great.” You weren’t sure how you managed to find a great friend like Eddie, but you weren’t about to question it, either. 

None of the guys you’d actually dated had ever been so understanding. But Eddie…he managed to always know what you needed. 

He offers you one of his signature grins that always brighten your day and heads down the hall to the bathroom. You take off your name tag when the loud gush of the tub faucet reaches your ears and you barely have time to yank your socks off before Eddie’s back in your doorway. 

“Your spa awaits,” he says. “I would’ve prepared you some music but I don’t think any of my metal cassettes have the ambiance you’re looking for right now.”

You shake your head as you pass by him and step towards the bathroom door. 

“Not really,”  you agree. “I’ll let you know if I need it for some inspiration working out or welding or something.”

Eddie huffs a laugh and slips his hands into the back pockets of his black jeans.

“Wasn’t that Flashdance?”

“Yeah, but that music wasn’t my thing,” you admit with a shrug before you step into the bathroom. The door clicks behind you as it closes and you’re immediately shedding the stained, greasy uniform you’ve been dying to ditch all day. 

A trail of clothing is left in your wake as you step up to the tub, the bubbles fizzing and giving off a calming jasmine scent. Not wanting to scald your skin as the cherry on top of this already grueling day, you slip your hand into the water to test the temperature. It’s perfect. You don’t know how Eddie does it; he must have the magic touch. 

The water, the bubbles, the scent, it’s all too inviting. You lift one leg over the side of the tub and climb in, quickly bringing the other in as well. In your haste to start your relaxation, you slip a bit as you begin to sit down. Instinct has you catching yourself on the sides of the tub almost instantly, but it causes the collection of soap, shampoo, and conditioner bottles to tumble onto the floor in a large heap. You stare at the pile for a moment.

“Ah, I’ll deal with you later,” you decide under your breath and sink further down into the warmth waiting to heal you from your long day. 

The bubbles tickle your skin as they gradually make their way higher. They stop around your breasts and the warm water wraps itself around every achy muscle in your body. 

Suddenly, the bathroom door busts open, a frazzled Eddie charging in with wide, concerned eyes. He’s only in a Corroded Coffin t-shirt and boxers now, so maybe the loud bang woke him from a nap. 

“I-Is everything okay?” he asks as he eyes the pile of bottles on the floor.

“Oh yeah, I just knocked those over when I got in,” you explain. 

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief but the moment his eyes land on you, his body tenses up even worse than before. He’s clearly trying not to stare at you—especially your chest—but he’s failing miserably. You look down to find that your roommate has a pretty good view of the tops of your boobs. 

When you look back to Eddie, you get a pretty nice view yourself. Since he’s only wearing boxers on his lower half, his boner is quite evident. 

A smug sense of satisfaction settles over you, even seeing how uncomfortable Eddie seems to be at getting caught. But you’re not going to tease him or make him feel bad about anything. On the contrary, you’ve thought of yet another way he can help you relax. 

“Do you wanna join?” you purr. 

When Eddie looks your way you give him the most innocent, wide eyed look you can manage and flutter your lashes a few times. 

Worry blooms within you when he doesn’t immediately respond. 

Did I overstep? Is he completely freaked out? Oh my god, what if his boner was completely unrelated to me and I just assumed—

His voice, smaller than you’ve ever heard it, interrupts your thoughts. “Mhm, yeah. I mean, if that’s cool with you.”

You nod, watching as he peels off his shirt and tosses it aside, exposing the soft tendrils of hair across his chest. There’s a tattoo on one pec; you want him, need him closer so you can run your tongue over it. 

He sheds his boxers next. Though you knew he was big just from seeing the bulge behind the fabric, nothing prepared you to see him fully on display. The reddish-pink tip leaks pre-cum as the shaft bobs in desperate search for the warmth of a body. 

“Where should I…” He’s gained a bit of confidence from the way you stare unabashedly at his naked body, but he’s still hesitant to push his luck too far. 

Scooting forward, you gesture to the now empty space behind you. Nerves buzz throughout your naked body —now wet in more ways than one. 

Eddie swings a leg over the edge of the tub, getting his balance before bringing the other to join. The way he places his hands on your shoulders results in an electricity that you can only hope he feels as well. 

His lower body disappears beneath the bubbles and he lets out a relaxed groan. You lean back until your head rests on his chest, his considerable length pressing against your lower back. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers. Whether he means to speak that softly or he can’t manage anything louder, you can’t be sure. “Be careful.”

“Careful?”

He nods, lips grazing the shell of your ear. He’s so close to you, and yet he’s still too far away. “You’re so fucking tempting like this.”

You shift slightly, enough to see the blush in his cheeks that you know isn’t from the steamy bath. “Maybe I want you to be tempted.”

One tattooed arm snakes around your waist, fingers trailing upwards and stopped just shy of your breasts. 

“Don’t tease me,” he begs. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.”

You take his hand and place it on your left breast. He whimpers, and you swear you could climax from the sound alone. 

Water sloshes around the tub as he hooks his legs around yours, gathering the stability he needs. 

“Fuck…” His hips move as he ruts up against you, desperate for relief. The way he pinches your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, starkly contrasts the gentle kisses he leaves on your shoulder blades. 

You want him. You need him. 

His other hand lays in the water and you guide it between your legs, now spread in anticipation of his touch. 

“There?” He asks as he finds your clit, rubbing it when you nod in the affirmative. 

Eddie increases his pace, fingers working in tandem to bring you pleasure. You arch your back, exposing your neck for him to bite and suck. 

“When we’re done,” he murmurs, “I want you splayed out on the bed for me. I need to see if your pussy is as pretty as I’ve imagined.”

His words awaken something within you. “Y-You imagine me…?” You start, unable to finish your sentence. 

Eddie nods. “Every time I jerk off, Sweetheart, I imagine being inside you. How you’d feel around my cock—mmph, fuck.”

“I picture you, too,” you confess. “Your fingers, or your cock, or—”

He raises a brow. “Or?”

“Or your mouth.” The admission spills from your lips. 

“Yeah? You want me to eat that pretty little pussy of yours?” Your own desire for him amps up his confidence. He’s impossibly and impressively hard, and you would do anything for him to stretch you out. 

You nod. “Please.”

“Okay, Sweetheart. Soon as we’re done here, yeah?” His breath hitches, his rutting becoming sloppier and needier as he nears orgasm. 

Bubbly waves crest over the side of the tub, drenching the bathmat and flooding the tile floor, but neither of you care. 

“Eds, little more, I’m gonna…” 

He follows your every order, your pussy clenching around nothing as he takes care of your clit. 

“Wanna make you feel good.” Eddie kisses your shoulder again. “Please let me make you feel good.”

You can only offer a moan as you come, chanting his name over and over. It’s a name you only ever dreamed about chanting so loudly; it was usually relegated to quiet whispers alone in your room. 

A new warmth, different from the bathwater, coats your lower back and drips down to your ass when Eddie finishes, the hand on your breast squeezing tight, pain and pleasure intermingling harmoniously. 

“Oh my god,” he pants. “That was…”

“Amazing.”

Eddie nods. “So fuckin’ amazing.” 

He lifts a bubble-covered hand to your chin, tilting it slightly so he can kiss you. His lips are soft but move with determination, his tongue sliding between yours. You let him in, your fingers playing with the wet tips of his hair. 

“Meant what I said about eating you out,” he mumbles into your mouth before stealing another kiss. 

Splayed out on the bed. His to ravish. The thought has you lunging for the towel hanging behind the door in an attempt to dry off. 

But when you stand, Eddie reaches out his hand and pulls you towards him, now eye-level with your pussy. “Knew she was perfect,” he says with a smirk. “Bet she tastes even better.”

The kiss he presses to your folds nearly buckled your knees. 

“You wanna find out?” He nods eagerly, and you giggle. “It might be a little lavender-y from the bath soap, though.”

Eddie shrugs. “Don’t care. Need you.”

And who are you to deny a man his needs?

--

[focusonkayjay]

between the ride and the roses (2)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Word count: 3.1k

Chapter Warnings: still nothing major. let me know if i need to mention anything.

A/N: posting part 2 right away, because i absolutely cannot wait for you guys to read more ahhhh. however, i just want to apologize for any sort of grammatical errors. english is not my first language so, please bare with me. also, while i was writing this story, i realised i would love it if you imagine the town's setting and vibe as something similar to "Stars Hollow" from the show Gilmore Girls, except it's a little more modern. does that make sense lmao? anywayssss, let me know your thoughts hehehehhe.

part 2: thorns in the asphalt

Finally done with the motorcycle he was working on, Jungkook stood up and clapped his hands together, sending a puff of dust and grease into the air. He lets out a shaky breath as he wipes his hands against the damp rag and glanced around at the bustling shop from outside. It wasn’t perfect yet, but it was his dream finally coming to life.

The half-set-up motorcycle shop buzzed with activity, the sounds of hammers and drills blending with the faint hum of an engine someone was tinkering with in the back. The air carried a mix of oil, fresh paint, and the occasional whiff of pepperoni from the pizza his friends were devouring. Jungkook pushed open the side door to the main area, letting it swing shut behind him with a soft clang.

Yoongi, Jimin, and Hoseok—his partners in crime, both in business and in the gang—were gathered around a workbench repurposed as a makeshift table. Pizza boxes and soda cans littered the surface amid spare parts and tools.

"Hey Kook, want a slice?" Hoseok asks through a mouthful of food, lifting a greasy hand to wave a slice in his direction.

Jungkook shook his head, brushing past them towards the washroom. "No, thanks.” he muttered. A few moments later, he returned, his damp hands running through his hair as he leaned against the wall, eyes darting across the shop. Despite his attempt to focus on the chaos around him, his thoughts strayed to you.

He clenched his jaw, irritation flaring as he recalled your sharp tone and the unmistakable look of disdain you’d given him earlier. Yoongi glanced up from the catalog he was flipping through, sensing the shift in Jungkook’s mood. "What’s with the mood?" he drawls, his voice laced with mild curiosity.

"Is it because of the florist?" Jimin asks, his eyebrows quirking up as he tilted his head. The glint in his eyes revealed he already knew the answer. He’d overheard snippets of your exchange earlier in the morning when he’d briefly stepped out to help the workers.

Jungkook groaned and dragged a hand down his face. "Why are you even bringing her up?" he snaps, though the exasperation in his tone lacked real heat. "Because you’re clearly bothered." Jimin teases, leaning forward with a knowing grin. "Let me guess, she gave you an earful about how we’re ruining her perfect little flower shop with all the noise and chaos?"

"Exactly!" Jungkook threw his hands up, his voice rising slightly. "She acts like I’m singlehandedly destroying her business just by existing. I tried to be polite—"

"Polite?" Hoseok interrupts, nearly choking on his soda as he fails to hide his laugh. "You? Polite? Kook, I’ve seen your polite face. It’s the same as your ‘don’t mess with me’ face, and honestly? It scares people." he adds, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

"Not helping.” Jungkook deadpans, shooting Hoseok a glare as he flopped into a chair near the counter. "Look, we’re moving in. Of course there’s going to be noise and commotion. Like what else does she expect? Silence and fairy dust?" he scoffs.

"Maybe she has a point.” Yoongi said, his tone calm as he flipped another page of his catalog. "We’re not exactly a quiet bunch. And you did rev your bike for, what, a solid minute when you parked earlier? Was that really necessary?" he questions.

Jungkook groaned again, throwing his head back. "That wasn’t for her! I was literally just testing the new pipes." he insists, his tone defensive.

"Sure you were," Jimin chimes in again, a mischievous grin stretching across his face. "And let me guess, she’s cute too, huh? That’s why you’re all worked up." he teases.

Jungkook froze for the briefest moment before his head snapped forward, his glare locking onto Jimin. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, it has everything to do with it.” Hoseok adds, leaning forward with a smirk. "Kook’s got a thing for the feisty and cute ones. Don’t deny it." he giggles with Jimin.

"You’re all insane." Jungkook mutters, grabbing a slice of pizza and taking an overly aggressive bite to distract himself from the conversation he so badly doesn't wanna have. "Admit it…” Yoongi suddenly says, finally setting the catalog aside to pin Jungkook with an amused look. "She got under your skin and that’s rare since usually, you’re the one doing the annoying."

"She’s NOT under my skin.” Jungkook argues, though the faint pink on his cheeks betrayed him. "She’s just... she's just being so damn unreasonable." He looked away, muttering under his breath. “I don’t even care."

"Uh-huh," Jimin said, exchanging a knowing glance with Hoseok as the two continue snickering. "Whatever," Jungkook grumbles, leaning back in his chair. "Let’s just focus on getting this place running. The sooner we’re open, the sooner I can stop worrying about her."

But even as he said it, his mind drifted back to you—the way your eyes flashed with annoyance, the sharp edge in your voice as you threw his words back at him.

//

The late afternoon sun streamed through the wide windows of your flower shop, casting a warm golden glow over the rows of vibrant blooms. You were carefully rearranging a bouquet of sunflowers, their cheerful yellow petals, a stark contrast to your lingering irritation from earlier. The noise from the shop next door had finally died down after the confrontation, leaving behind a calm, almost eerie silence.

You let out a small sigh, trying to tamp down your annoyance. "He’s moving in. Of course, there’s going to be noise." You repeated the thought to yourself, attempting to summon some patience. Still, that didn’t excuse Jungkook’s smug attitude. He had a knack for getting under your skin in record time.

The day passed peacefully after that. A few regulars stopped by every now and then, gradually making you think less of the way your day had started. The smiles of your customers as they left, made the effort worth it, reminding you why exactly you loved this job. Flowers had a way of softening even the hardest days.

As you glanced at the clock perched on your counter, the hands read 7:32 PM. The faint ache in your feet confirmed it was time to call it a day. You walked to the front of the store and flipped the "Open" sign to "Close" on your glass door.

As you turned around to walk towards your workbench, curiosity got the better of you, forcing you to make your way towards the window. You peeked out, trying to see something.

The sidewalk, once cluttered with tools and crates, was now clear. The noise had disappeared entirely, and the only sign of life was the light spilling out onto the pavement. You couldn’t see anyone moving about inside. Shrugging, you stepped away from the glass, shaking off the lingering thoughts of your new neighbor.

Back at your workbench, you start by tidying up the scattered stems and trimmed leaves. Your fingers had just reached for a bundle of sunflower stalks when the soft chime of the bell above the door startled you. "We’re closed for the—" you begin, turning around, but your words melt into a smile as your gaze lands on Taehyung.

He strolls in, exuding his usual effortless charm. He's dressed in a cozy brown sweater and a pair of white trousers while smudges of paint streaks across his hands. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, and the corners of his mouth lifts into a playful grin.

"Looks like someone had a busy day." you tease, gesturing towards the paint on his hands. "Art waits for no one." he replies dramatically as he leans against the counter like a protagonist in a renaissance painting. "But of course, I had to stop by and see my favorite florist." he adds, standing up straight.

You roll your eyes, laughing as he joins you at the workbench and begins helping you clean up. "Flattery won’t get you free flowers," you quip, sweeping a handful of cut stems into a bin.

"Who said I was here for flowers?" he shoots back, his grin widening. "I’ve got a better idea. Dinner. Tonight. The whole squad—Namjoon, Seokjin, Juwon, me, and you. You need a break, and we all miss you."

You pause, leaning against the counter as you consider his words. Normally, you’d jump at the chance to spend time with your closest friends. But after the day you’d had... between juggling work and the fiasco with Jungkook, you were tempted to go straight home and collapse into bed.

"I don’t know, Tae..." you began with a small pout. "It’s been a long day."

"Exactly why you should come." he says, stepping closer, his tone now softening with concern. "What happened, though?"

You sigh, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, not wanting to say anything. Judging your expression, Taehyung wraps his arm around your shoulder as he pats your arm.

"Sounds like someone needs to vent over some good food." you hear him say, his teasing tone returning. "Come on. Join us. You can rant as much as you want, and I promise you’ll leave feeling at least a hundred times better."

You stare at him for a moment, weighing your options. The idea of being with your friends laughing, talking, and letting the weight of the day slip away was tempting. "Fine." you finally relent with a smirk. "But you’re paying for my dessert." you quickly add, smirking up at your best friend.

Taehyung rolls his eyes but instantly grins. "Deal. Now hurry up. We’ve got a table waiting, and I’m starving."

You laugh as the two of you continue tidying up around your store so that you can close up quickly and escape the chaos in your mind, just for a bit.

//

Jungkook leans against the frame of his shop’s side door as his tongue plays with the piercings on his lower lip. He let's out a deep exhale as he thinks about the long day he's had.

Though the shop was coming together, the chaos of setting up and managing his friends’ antics had left him drained. He pulls out a cigarette from his pocket but hesitates, staring at it for a second before tucking it back in. With a shake of his head, he looks to his left, eyeing your shop.

He notices how your shop is still lit, its warm golden glow, a stark contrast to the sharp fluorescents of his workspace. He steps a little forward, inching closer to your store and halts just when he's able to get a view of what's happening inside.

He peaks from the window, his eyes following through the gaps between the shelves of flowers. From where he was standing, the scene inside felt surreal, like something from a painting—the neat rows of flowers against the wall, the gentle sway of their petals under the ceiling fan, and then... you.

His eyes land on you without warning, and it's like everything else blurs for a second. You're standing near your workbench, a soft smile playing on your lips as you lean towards a man beside you. He's tall, dressed in earth tones and the two of you seem to move in sync, tidying up the scattered stems and leaves, your laughter faint but clear in the stillness of the evening.

Jungkook’s breath hitches. That smile. It was nothing like the irritated glare you’d aimed at him earlier that morning. This was something entirely different. So delicate, so soft, so genuine in a way that felt private, like something he shouldn’t be witnessing.

He crosses his arms tightly, trying to shake the strange pull of the scene, but his gaze betrays him, lingering despite himself. He stands there, wondering who that man is. A friend? A brother? A boyfriend? A husband?

"You’re staring." Yoongi’s voice cuts through the quiet, smooth as ever but laced with amusement. Jungkook jolts back into reality, straightening as his friends emerged from the shop, now standing behind him. Yoongi leans against Jungkook's shoulder, a sly smirk on his face, while Jimin and Hoseok stand back, each carrying half-empty soda cans.

"Her again?" Jimin teases as Jungkook feels his friend stand beside him. Jimin takes a sip from his soda and squints his eyes, looking inside your shop. "I’m not staring." Jungkook finally bites back, his tone sharper than intended. He looks away quickly, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Right." Hoseok smirks, circling around to join them. "Then what were you doing? Meditating? Because it looked like you were ready to write her a sonnet." he mocks, earning a snort from the other two.

Jimin lets out a low whistle. "She does look cute tonight, I'm not gonna lie. I totally understand you." he says, his grin widening as Jungkook shoots him a deadly glare. "I wonder who's the guy." Yoongi suddenly says, tilting his head slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the man beside you. "I don’t know. And I don’t care.” Jungkook snaps, his voice low but taut.

"Oh, you care.” Hoseok said with a knowing chuckle, nudging Jimin as they exchanged grins. "Look at you. All tense and broody. It’s adorable." Jungkook faces them, his jaw tight. "I’m not tense. And I’m definitely not broody. I could care less about her." he huffs.

"Care less, huh?" Yoongi murmurs, raising a brow. "Funny how you can’t stop staring at her for someone you claim not to care about." he laughs as the other two agree. Jungkook scowls, but his friends were truly relentless.

"Come on, Kook, admit it.” Jimin says, moving away from his spot as he starts walking towards his bike that's parked near their store. Hoseok follows him and Jungkook hears Jimin continue. "You’ve got a thing for her. Feisty florist, sharp tongue, cute smile— basically your type."

"She’s NOT my type," Jungkook speaks, but his voice falters slightly, betraying him. He doesn't even realize his eyes have found their way back to you. "Then why are you still looking?" Yoongi asks, his tone almost gentle now, like he was daring Jungkook to confront something he wasn’t ready to.

Jungkook clenches his fists at his sides, as he finally looks away, glancing at Yoongi. He doesn't know what to say, but he turns back to look at you. He observes the way the unknown man leans closer to you, saying something that causes a grin to appear on your face. The sight sends a strange pang through Jungkook’s chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome but he ignores it.

His friends seemed to have noticed the shift because their teasing suddenly softens while their smirks are replaced with something quieter. "Hey..." Hoseok starts after a moment, clapping Jungkook on the shoulder as he carefully pulls him away from your window and begins walking towards their bikes. "If it bugs you that much, why don’t you just talk to her? Not like your grumpy act is working." he suggests.

"Yeah, sure," Jungkook mutters darkly as he shrugs off Hoseok’s hand and continues walking. "I’ll just stroll over there and say, ‘Hey, sorry for all the noise. By the way, is that your boyfriend?’ That’ll go great." he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Hoseok shakes his head.

"I didn't mean it like that, idiot. I meant like... in the days that come, maybe be nice to her, start a friendship... I don't know. She's our neighbor after all. Besides, today's only the first day, You have a ton of opportunities to start something fresh with her." he explains. "Yeah, he's right. It's better than standing here sulking.” Jimin shoots back, grinning.

Jungkook glares at them but says nothing, his thoughts too tangled to argue. His friends get on their bikes and wear their helmets. "Anyways, we're heading home. Lock the doors and make sure you get home safe too." Yoongi says, starting his bike. The other two follow him after a few minutes, bidding their goodbyes to Jungkook.

He quietly stands near his bike, a war between his brain and heart as he tries his best to decipher what exactly he is feeling right now. He shakes his head, telling himself there's no point thinking about all of this and walks back into his shop, deciding to just tidy up and head home. It's been a long day.

//

The diner was a cozy little spot on the edge of town, with warm lighting and the smell of fresh food in the air. Namjoon was already there when you arrived, his nose buried in a thick book, while Seokjin and Juwon were engaged in an animated conversation about work.

"Finally," Seokjin says as he spots you and Taehyung slide into the booth. "You’re late." he complains. "Blame her…" Taehyung says, pointing at you. "Sorry, I took some time cleaning up." you answer, taking off your coat and placing it on your lap.

Namjoon finally closes his book and looks up at the rest of you. "Wow feels like we're all linking up after ages." he says as everyone around the table laughs. "Joon we literally met last week." Seokjin says. "Yes but, Y/n wasn't there. You can't deny but it has been a while since all 5 of us have hung out." Namjoon states, earning a nod from everyone.

"You're right, i have been a little busy." You agree, smiling at everyone apologetically. "Oh it's alright Y/n-ah" Juwon says, as she proceeds to hold your hand on the table and rub your knuckles with her thumb. "How have you been? What's new?" she quickly asks.

Soon, conversation sparks up between the 5 of you as the food you had ordered arrives and somehow you find yourself ranting about the incidents of the day you just had. You launched right into the story, recounting every frustrating detail. Your friends listened intently, their reactions ranging from indignation to amusement.

"Sounds like he’s a pain.” Seokjin says, once you're somewhat done. "You should send him a passive-aggressive bouquet. A nice arrangement of thorns and poison ivy." he adds and Taehyung laughs at his comment. "Or maybe he’s just not used to someone standing up to him, you know." Juwon suggests with a smirk.

You scoff, leaning back in your chair. "Please. He’s not that intimidating. I will stand up to him whenever it's needed." you nod to yourself. "Ugh i hate him. He's like my biggest enemy right now." you let out, rubbing your temples.

Namjoon chuckles, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Be careful, Y/N. Strangers to enemies... that’s a slippery slope." he says, swallowing his food.

"And sometimes…" Taehyung suddenly adds, his grin mischievous "it’s the best kind of slope." You groan as you hear him say that, dropping your head onto the edge of the table as your friends laugh. If this was the start of your interactions with Jungkook, you dreaded to think what the rest of your coming days would look like.

<- part 1 // part 3 ->

[reidmarieprentiss]

Hometown Glory

Summary: Moving back to your hometown was never your plan, and neither was running into the class clown Chip Taylor. But everything happens for a reason, right?

Pairing: Chip Taylor x nurse fem!reader

Category: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: brief domestic violence (not reader), fights, blood/cuts/gore, alcohol consumption, drunk side character, happy ending, poor sweet baby Chip going through it

Word count: 10.8k

a/n: i love chip so bad, he doesn't deserve anything bad that happened to him :( i'm really trying to get back into my writing headspace thank you all for being so patient with me <3333

main masterlist

You were finally a registered nurse, having recently finished your residency and finally securing your spot as a full-time hospital employee. After a long, grueling shift, you decide to swing by a convenience store to fill up your gas tank and treat yourself to something sweet before heading home.

The fluorescent lights of the store are oddly comforting as you hum a tune under your breath, scanning the aisles for the perfect snack. Your moment of quiet is interrupted by the chime of the bell above the entrance door.

“Sir?” the cashier’s voice calls out, tinged with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” comes the reply, though it’s far from convincing. The man’s voice is low and strained. “Yeah, I’m fine. Do you, uh, have any band-aids?”

“Uh—um, yes, but... you should really see a doctor—”

“No,” the man interjects firmly, his tone impatient. “I just need band-aids. Where are they?”

The cashier hesitates before pointing him toward an aisle, still looking unsure. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you abandon your search for a snack, rounding the corner to catch a glimpse of the man in need of first aid.

Your breath catches in your throat. “Chip?” you blurt out, incredulous. You can’t believe your eyes.

The man turns to face you, and you gasp. His face is a mess—covered in blood, cuts, and bruises. His disheveled appearance sends alarm bells ringing in your head.

“Jesus, Chip!” you exclaim, your voice filled with both shock and concern. “What the hell happened to you?”

His brows knit together, his expression shifting from confusion to discomfort. “Who—uh, how do you know me?” he asks, his voice cautious.

“Huh?” You tilt your head, studying his battered face with worry. “Chip, it’s me—Y/N. Y/N Y/L? We went to high school together.”

Chip blinked a few times, his bloodshot eyes squinting as he tried to focus on your face. His body language, even through the fog of pain, softened just a little as he registered your name.

"Y/N? Holy shit," he repeated, his voice raspy, either from exhaustion or something worse. He took a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

You stepped closer, your nurse instincts kicking into overdrive as you scanned his injuries. Blood trickled from a cut above his eyebrow, smearing down the side of his face. His knuckles were raw, and a nasty gash across his forearm oozed blood onto his torn sleeve. You could see bruising already forming along his cheekbone, and his lip was split.

"Chip, you look like you got hit by a truck. What happened?" you demanded, your voice full of concern.

"It's nothing," he muttered, brushing off your worry with a weak wave of his hand. He turned his attention to the shelf of first aid supplies, scanning for the bandaids as though they could fix everything. "I just need some bandaids, that's all."

"Bandaids? Are you serious?" You crossed your arms, a mixture of exasperation and worry bubbling in your chest. "Chip, you look like you need a hospital. Not bandaids."

He winced, his eyes darting back to you. "I don't need a hospital, okay? I just... got into a little fight. It's not a big deal."

"A little fight? Chip, you look like you lost a battle with a bear," you shot back, stepping even closer now, invading his personal space in that way only someone truly worried could get away with.

Chip’s attempt at a smirk faltered as he winced again, his injuries clearly causing him more pain than he wanted to let on. "Well, the other guy looks worse," he mumbled, his attempt at bravado falling flat under your sharp gaze.

"Great, you're still sarcastic," you said, rolling your eyes. "Come on, let me look at you."

"What? No. I'm fine." He started to back away, but you reached out and grabbed his uninjured arm, your grip firm but not harsh.

"Chip, I’m a nurse. If you don’t let me help you, you’ll probably pass out right here in this aisle. So unless you want the cashier to call an ambulance—which, trust me, she’s seconds away from doing—just sit down and let me take care of this."

He hesitated, glancing around the nearly empty store, clearly torn. His pride wrestled with the reality of his situation, the bruises and cuts screaming louder than his ego. Finally, he let out a resigned sigh.

"Fine. But can we go somewhere else? I don’t want to make a scene," he mumbled, his voice low and almost pleading.

"Too late for that," you said, raising an eyebrow at the cashier who was still nervously watching the two of you.

"Please?" Chip grumbled, his tone softening just enough to sound genuine.

You sighed, relenting. "Sure, Chip. Come on." You quickly paid for your items, tossing them into a plastic bag, and led the way out to the parking lot.

Chip followed you out of the store reluctantly, his steps slow and uneven. You kept a close eye on him, glancing over your shoulder as you reached your car. His face was pale, and you could see the effort it took him to stay upright.

You glanced at him as he shuffled behind you, clearly in no condition to walk far. "Did you drive?" you asked, though you suspected you already knew the answer.

As you unlocked the doors, you motioned towards the passenger seat. "Get in," you instructed, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He hesitated for a split second, his pride clearly still putting up a fight, but the exhaustion and pain finally won out. He slumped into the passenger seat, letting out a low groan as he tried to find a position that didn’t make him wince.

You slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, casting him a sideways glance. "You really should’ve gone straight to the hospital," you said, your voice softer now that the two of you were away from prying eyes.

Chip gave a half-hearted shrug, wincing at the movement. "Yeah, well, hospitals ask a lot of questions. I wasn’t really in the mood for that."

You frowned, the wheels in your mind turning. "What kind of questions are you trying to avoid, Chip? Did you get into some kind of trouble?"

His jaw tightened, and he avoided your gaze, staring out the window instead. "It’s complicated," he muttered.

"Complicated?" You scoffed, pulling out of the parking lot. "Chip, you’re sitting in my car, bleeding and bruised, looking like you went twelve rounds with a heavyweight champion. I think you owe me an explanation."

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I didn’t ask for your help, Y/N."

"Too bad," you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. "Because you’re getting it whether you like it or not. Now, are you going to tell me what happened, or do I have to guess?"

Chip glanced at you, his expression softening just a fraction. He seemed to weigh his options before finally speaking. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, okay? Got into a fight with some guys who didn’t take kindly to me being there."

"Where’s 'there'?" you pressed, your grip tightening on the steering wheel.

He hesitated again, his lips pressing into a thin line. "It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I'm fine. Or at least I will be."

You let out a frustrated sigh but decided not to push further. "Fine. We’ll deal with the details later. Right now, I’m taking you to my place so I can clean you up properly."

Chip’s head snapped towards you, his eyebrows furrowing. "Your place? No, no way. That’s not happening."

"And why not?" you challenged, arching a brow at him.

"Because it’s... weird," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Weird?" You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. "Chip, you’re sitting here covered in blood, and you think going to my place to clean up is the weird part? You’re unbelievable."

He muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t argue further. Instead, he slouched deeper into the seat, clearly too tired to keep up the fight.

The rest of the drive was quiet, the only sound coming from the low hum of the engine and the occasional hiss of pain from Chip as you hit a bump in the road.

When you finally pulled up to your apartment, you parked and turned to him. "Come on, let’s get you inside."

Chip grumbled something inaudible but followed you out of the car, his movements slow and deliberate. As you led him up the stairs, you couldn’t help but shake your head.

"How do you always manage to get yourself into situations like this?" you muttered.

"Talent," he replied with a weak grin.

"Yeah, well, your 'talent' is going to land you in serious trouble one day," you retorted, unlocking your door and stepping inside.

Chip leaned against the doorframe, his eyes scanning your apartment. "Nice place," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Save the commentary for when you’re not dripping blood on my floor," you shot back, motioning for him to sit on the couch.

He chuckled softly, wincing as he eased himself down. "You’ve gotten feisty, Y/N."

"And you’ve gotten dumber," you replied, grabbing your first aid kit.

As you knelt in front of him, unpacking the supplies, Chip watched you quietly. For a moment, he seemed to forget his pain, his gaze softening as he took you in.

"Thanks," he said quietly, his voice breaking the silence.

You glanced up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. "Don’t thank me yet. You’re going to hate me when I start cleaning those wounds."

He smirked, the faintest glimmer of his old charm shining through. "I already do."

"Good," you replied, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips. "That makes this easier."

You grabbed a clean towel and some antiseptic from the first aid kit, shooting Chip a pointed look as you settled on the coffee table in front of him. "Alright, this is going to sting like hell. No whining allowed."

Chip raised an eyebrow, his lopsided grin making a reappearance despite his injuries. "When did you get so bossy? You used to be so sweet."

"And you used to be less of a shit talker," you shot back, soaking the towel with antiseptic. "Guess we both changed."

His smirk faltered as you pressed the towel against the gash on his arm. He hissed through his teeth, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch. "Damn, Y/N. Trying to kill me?"

"Not my fault you’re a baby," you teased, your voice light but your hands steady. "Maybe if you’d gone to the hospital like a normal person, someone else could’ve done this for you."

He chuckled, though it was strained. "Yeah, but they wouldn’t have looked this good doing it."

You paused for a moment, your eyes flicking up to meet his. His grin was still there, faint but mischievous, and you felt your cheeks heat despite yourself. "Flattery isn’t going to make this hurt any less," you muttered, turning your attention back to his arm.

"I’m just saying," he continued, his tone playful now, "if I’d known my high school classmate turned into some kind of Florence Nightingale, I’d have gotten into trouble a lot sooner."

You snorted, dabbing at the cut with perhaps a little more pressure than necessary. "Florence Nightingale would have let you bleed out for being this annoying."

Chip winced, but he didn’t stop talking. "Annoying? Come on, Y/N. I’m charming. You used to have a thing for charm."

You rolled your eyes, fighting the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I had a thing for Pete’s charm, Chip. And you’re about one bad pickup line away from me calling an ambulance to take you out of my apartment."

He laughed, the sound genuine despite his discomfort. "Okay, okay. I’ll behave. But seriously, thanks for this. I mean it."

"Don’t thank me yet," you said, leaning in to inspect the cut on his eyebrow. Your knee brushed against his, and you felt his gaze shift, watching you more intently now. "I still have to clean this mess on your face. That’s going to be even worse."

"Yeah?" His voice was quieter now, tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. "I trust you."

You stilled for a moment, your breath catching at the sincerity in his tone. Meeting his eyes, you found something there that wasn’t entirely playful—something softer, more vulnerable. The moment lingered, the air between you suddenly heavier.

Shaking off the feeling, you forced a smirk and reached for another antiseptic wipe. "That’s your first mistake," you said lightly, hoping to break the tension.

Chip grinned again, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "If this is what a mistake feels like, I think I’ll take my chances."

“Was that a pick up line?” You narrowed your eyes at Chip before you focused on cleaning his eyebrow, trying not to think about how close you were to him. His breath was warm on your cheek, and you couldn’t ignore the way your heart picked up its pace. This was Chip, for God’s sake. The same Chip who’d spent half of high school cracking jokes in the back of class and charming his way both in and out of trouble.

"Doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would," he said after a moment, breaking the silence.

"See? Told you I’m good at this," you replied, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

"Good? More like amazing," he said, his grin widening as he leaned back against the couch. His eyes studied you carefully, flickering with something more contemplative than before. "Can’t believe you came back here after college."

"Why’s that?" you asked, keeping your focus on cleaning the stubborn cut near his cheekbone. You avoided meeting his gaze, sensing the weight behind his words.

"I don’t know," Chip said with a small shrug, though his voice held a quiet sincerity. "You always seemed like you were going to do bigger and better things. You had that spark, you know? Like you were meant for something more."

"Yeah, well," you murmured, letting out a soft sigh as you dabbed at the wound. "I wasn’t going to come back. But… things change."

His brow furrowed slightly at your tone, the playful energy between you dimming. "What changed?" he asked, his voice softer now, curiosity tinged with genuine concern.

You held your breath, your hands momentarily stilling as you thought about how to answer. The memories came rushing back, sharp and vivid, but you pushed them down, trying to keep your voice steady. "Mom passed," you said finally, the words quiet but firm. "Dad needed help."

The room fell silent for a beat, the hum of your apartment’s air conditioning the only sound. Chip’s expression shifted, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something far more serious. "Y/N, I… I didn’t know. I’m sorry."

You shrugged, forcing yourself to keep busy as you finished cleaning the last of his wounds. "It’s okay. It was a while ago now. You know how it is—life happens, and you just… deal with it."

Chip nodded slowly, his gaze unwavering as he watched you work. "Yeah. But still, I’m sorry you had to go through that."

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, offering him a small, tight smile. "Thanks, Chip." You stood up, tossing the used antiseptic wipes into the trash. "Alright, you’re all patched up. Try not to pick any more fights for at least a week, okay?"

He chuckled, though the sound was quieter than before. "I’ll do my best. But no promises."

You rolled your eyes, grateful for the return of his humor. "Seriously, Chip. You should try and take care of yourself. I won’t always be here to clean up your mess."

He grinned, the warmth in his expression taking some of the weight off the conversation. "Good to know you’ve still got that fire in you. Some things don’t change, huh?"

You smirked, shaking your head. "Maybe. But some things do."

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and you felt the air shift again, a quiet intensity settling between you.

"Yeah," Chip said softly, his voice carrying a weight that made your chest tighten. "Some things do."

—

You sent Chip on his way that night after you finished cleaning him up. Something about him lingered in your mind, pulling at threads of memory and curiosity. He wasn’t the same Chip you remembered from high school—not entirely, anyway. Back then, he was the class clown, always cracking jokes and pulling pranks, his antics loud enough to mask whatever deeper, darker truths he thought no one could see. You noticed, of course. You always did.

You’d thought he was cute back then, with his messy hair and crooked smile, but now? Now, he was handsome in a way that made you pause—a rugged, lived-in kind of attractiveness that spoke to years of experiences, good and bad.

In high school, you never gave much thought to what might’ve been. You’d always had a boyfriend back then—Pete Welsh. Pete, with his soft-spoken kindness and steadfast loyalty, had been the sweetest guy you’d ever known. But Pete never wanted to leave Amarillo. He was content with the small-town life, dreaming of raising a family on the same quiet streets where he grew up.

You, on the other hand, had dreams of moving far, far away. The big city called to you with its bright lights and endless possibilities. But then… Mom got sick.

Everything shifted. Plans for the future faded, replaced with long nights by her bedside and endless days balancing work and care. Amarillo, for all its limitations, became your entire world.

And now, here was Chip, standing on your front steps with that same crooked smile but a different air about him. It made you wonder what had changed for him in all these years—and what was still the same.

“What are you doing here, Chip?” you asked, exasperation clear in your tone as you stood in the doorway. Your arms crossed instinctively, but your gaze softened as it traveled over him.

He looked down, avoiding your eyes as his hands fidgeted, wringing together awkwardly. “I—uh, got kinda… cut,” he admitted with a sheepish laugh. The sound was weak, forced, and trailed off quickly as he winced, one hand clutching his side.

Your eyes immediately darted to the hand pressed against his ribs. “Cut?” you echoed, your exasperation melting into concern. “Chip, what did you—”

“Can you help me out?” he interrupted, his voice a mixture of embarrassment and hope. His lips pulled into a half-smile, trying to diffuse the tension, but the faint pallor of his face betrayed him.

You sighed, already stepping back to let him in, your mind racing with questions. “Fine. Get in here before you bleed all over the porch.”

He shuffled past you, careful not to brush too close, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his steps were slightly uneven, his posture hunched just enough to protect his injured side.

“Let me see,” you said, your voice firmer now as you pointed to the kitchen. “Sit down, and don’t try to charm your way out of explaining this.”

Chip shot you a lopsided grin despite the situation, but he obeyed, lowering himself carefully onto the nearest chair. “I’d never dream of it.”

But of course, he would dream of it. Chip expertly dodged every single question you threw at him, deflecting with vague answers and cheeky grins that only served to wear down your patience further.

“Chip,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “You can’t keep showing up here, okay? What if you’re in real danger and I’m not home?”

“You’re home right now,” he countered with a sheepish grin, his tone light and teasing, as if his very presence wasn’t bending every boundary you’d ever set.

“You got lucky,” you shot back, your voice sharper now, though the flicker of concern in your eyes softened the words.

His grin faltered for a moment, his gaze darting to the floor before returning to you. “Yeah, I guess I did.” His voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful, like he wasn’t just talking about tonight.

You shook your head, trying not to let his sudden shift tug too hard at your heartstrings. “Seriously, Chip. You can’t keep doing this. What’s going on? Why do you keep coming to me?”

For a moment, you thought he might actually answer, his mouth opening as if to speak. But then he just shook his head and leaned back in the chair, the grin creeping back onto his face like armor. “Guess I just like the company.”

You stared at him, equal parts exasperated and worried. “Chip—”

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart,” he interrupted, giving you a wink that did nothing to ease your concerns. “I’m tougher than I look.”

You sighed again, the weight of his stubbornness settling heavily on your chest. “One of these days, your luck’s going to run out, Chip,” you muttered, turning to grab the first aid supplies.

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice quieter this time. “But not tonight.”

—

It kept up like this. Chip kept showing up, like clockwork, and you—against all odds—were always magically home.

It was uncanny, almost unsettling, as if he had some sixth sense for your presence. No matter the time, no matter the day, he’d appear at your door, sometimes with a scrape, sometimes a bruise, and sometimes just that lopsided grin that made you want to roll your eyes and smile at the same time.

And despite your best efforts to keep your walls up, you always let him in.

Even when you answered the door with your arms crossed and an exasperated sigh. Even when you scolded him for not going to the hospital or told him he was too reckless for his own good. Even when you warned him, time and time again, that this wasn’t sustainable—that he couldn’t keep running to you like this.

But you still opened the door, every single time.

Maybe it was the way he looked at you, a mixture of hope and mischief that felt impossible to ignore. Or maybe it was the quiet moments in between—the ones where he let his guard down, even if just for a fleeting second, and you could see the boy he used to be, buried beneath the man life had clearly roughed up.

Whatever it was, you let him in, even when you told yourself you wouldn’t. And Chip? He kept coming back, as if he knew. As if he could sense that, no matter what you said, you’d never actually turn him away.

You sat across from Chip at the kitchen table, the two of you nursing mugs of coffee long after the sun had gone down. The evening had settled into an easy rhythm, the kind where conversation flowed naturally, unhurried by the clock.

“Man, high school feels like it was a hundred years ago,” you said with a laugh, swirling the last bit of coffee in your mug.

“Pete Welsh and you were practically glued at the hip back then,” Chip chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a teasing grin. “I thought for sure you two were going to get married and have that perfect little white-picket-fence life.”

You raised an eyebrow, mirroring his smirk. “Pete Welsh, huh? I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

Chip chuckled, tilting his head. “Mhm. Mr. Perfect Hair and Letterman Jacket? What happened to him, anyway?”

You shrugged, a wry smile crossing your face. “Last I heard, he’s still in Amarillo. Married some sweet girl he met at church, has a couple of kids now. He’s doing great.”

Chip nodded, a playful glint in his eye. “Sounds about right. Bet he’s still mowing his lawn in crisp khakis and a polo shirt, huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Oh, absolutely. That’s Pete to a T.”

Chip’s grin softened slightly, his gaze lingering on you. “You ever think about how different your life would’ve been if you’d stayed with him? Settled down here, had that picket fence and all?”

You paused, swirling your coffee as the thought settled in. “Honestly? No. Pete’s a great guy, but he always wanted to stay, and I… I needed to see what else was out there. Staying in Amarillo would’ve been the easy choice, but it wouldn’t have been the right one for me.”

Chip hummed, nodding slowly. “Makes sense. You were always the type to chase something bigger.”

You smiled at that, tilting your head. “And what about you? You’ve done plenty of chasing yourself, haven’t you?”

He laughed, but it was softer now, almost wistful. “Yeah, I guess. Though I think I was always chasing the wrong things. Or, you know… the wrong people.”

There was a weight to his words, and the way his eyes met yours made your breath hitch. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chip hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… I spent all of high school with this dumb crush on you, watching you and Pete from the sidelines...”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Chip…”

He shrugged, his smile crooked and a little shy. “It’s not a big deal. You were way out of my league back then. Still are.”

Your chest tightened. “You never said anything.”

“Would it have mattered?” he asked, his voice teasing but his eyes vulnerable.

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. A mix of emotions swirled in your chest—nostalgia, surprise, and something undeniably warm.

“I don’t know,” you admitted softly, meeting his gaze.

Chip smirked, leaning forward on his elbows. “Guess we’ll never know, huh?”

You laughed lightly, the moment settling between you with a weight that neither of you was ready to unpack.

—

“Goddammit, Chip!” Liza screamed, her voice shaking with fury as she grabbed the nearest heavy object—a ceramic vase—and hurled it at him. It shattered against the wall, narrowly missing his head. “We need money for fucking rent!”

Chip flinched, shrinking into himself as he backed up against the kitchen counter. His hands raised instinctively in defense, his voice stumbling over itself. “I—I know, Liza, I’m sorry. Jo—John said he’d have more work for me soon. I’m trying, okay?”

“Trying?” Liza’s laugh was sharp and bitter, slicing through the tension like a knife. She took a step closer, her eyes blazing with anger. “Well, you’re not trying hard enough! Maybe if you weren’t such a fucking moron, you could get a real job! You ever think about that, genius?”

Chip looked away, his shoulders slumping further under the weight of her words. “I’m doing the best I can,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible, the frustration and shame threatening to choke him.

“Well, your ‘best’ isn’t good enough,” she snapped, her hands gesturing wildly. “Do you think the landlord’s gonna take your excuses as payment? Do you think I’m gonna keep putting up with this shit? Get your act together, Chip, or we’re both screwed!”

Chip swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he struggled to find something to say that wouldn’t make things worse. But deep down, he knew—whatever he said wouldn’t matter. Liza’s anger had reached a boiling point, and he was the easiest target.

“I’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, though the words felt hollow even to him.

“You better,” Liza hissed, glaring at him one last time before storming out of the room, leaving behind the broken vase and a silence that felt heavier than anything she could have thrown.

Chip stood there for a moment, staring at the shards on the floor, his jaw tight as he tried to push down the familiar ache in his chest. Then, with a heavy sigh, he grabbed a broom and started sweeping, the weight of Liza’s words settling deep into his bones.

—

The two of you were sitting on the worn-out couch in your living room, the kind of night that didn’t need anything special to feel perfect. Chip had just told a ridiculous story about one of his old "get-rich-quick schemes," and you were laughing so hard your sides hurt.

“Oh my god, Chip,” you said between giggles, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “How do you even come up with this stuff? Did you seriously think selling glow-in-the-dark socks was going to make you a millionaire?”

“Hey,” he said, trying to look indignant but failing miserably as a grin tugged at his lips. “The market research was solid. I just didn’t account for, you know… shipping costs.”

You burst out laughing again, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable!” you teased, and in a playful burst of energy, you gave him a light punch on the shoulder.

The moment shifted instantly. Chip flinched, his body jerking back like he’d been hit much harder. His grin disappeared, replaced by a fleeting look of alarm that he tried to mask as quickly as it came.

Your laughter died in your throat, your hand frozen mid-air as your brain tried to process what just happened. “Chip?” you said softly, concern creeping into your voice.

He forced a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, reflex,” he said quickly, rubbing his shoulder even though your punch had been more of a tap. “Guess I’m just jumpy today.”

You didn’t buy it. Your brows furrowed as you tilted your head, studying him carefully. “Chip… did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” he said, waving you off, his voice too quick, too dismissive. “It’s nothing, really. Just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“Don’t lie to me,” you said, your tone firm but gentle. “You flinched like I was about to deck you. What’s going on?”

Chip sighed, his shoulders sagging as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn’t meet your gaze, instead staring down at his hands as he fidgeted nervously. “It’s… it’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said quietly.

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his voice. Slowly, you reached out, placing a hand on his knee, offering a touch of comfort. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice steady and calm. “It’s me. You can talk to me, you know?”

“I said it’s nothing, okay!” Chip snapped, his voice sharp as he shoved your hand off his knee.

The movement startled you, and you flinched, your eyes widening. For a moment, the room felt too small, the air thick with tension. You weren’t used to this—being yelled at by the sweet, goofy man who had spent the last hour making you laugh.

You pulled back slightly, your hand hovering uncertainly in your lap. “Chip…” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His face fell almost instantly, the anger and frustration draining away as quickly as it had come. He ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping under the weight of regret. “Shit,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry.”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “I wasn’t trying to push you,” you said gently, though your voice trembled slightly. “I just—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice thick with guilt. He looked at you then, his eyes filled with remorse. “I didn’t mean to yell. I just… I don’t know how to talk about this stuff, okay? I’m sorry.”

You studied him for a moment, the tension in your chest softening as you saw the pain etched across his face. Slowly, you nodded, your voice tender as you said, “It’s okay, Chip. But you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

He sighed heavily, his hands rubbing over his face. “It’s not that easy,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“I know it’s not,” you replied, leaning forward slightly, your tone quiet but steady. “But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, the weight of your words settling over him. Then, finally, he nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Thanks,” he said softly, his voice barely audible.

You gave him a small, tentative smile, silently hoping he’d let you in someday. Until then, you’d wait, no matter how long it took.

“How about we take a walk? Clear our heads?” you suggest softly, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between you.

Chip looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, then nods. Without another word, the two of you step outside, the cool night air brushing against your skin. You walk side by side down the quiet street, your footsteps the only sound breaking the stillness.

For a while, neither of you says anything. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s heavy, like both of you are waiting for the other to speak. Finally, Chip breaks it.

“I must look like a real winner, huh?” he says, his tone self-effacing, his words laced with a bitter humor that makes your heart ache.

You glance at him, his profile barely visible in the dim glow of a streetlamp. “What do you mean?”

He huffs out a laugh, the sound quiet and almost bitter. Gently, he nudges his shoulder into yours, a small, tentative gesture. “First, I need you to clean me up. Over and over. And now I can’t even make it through one chat without ruining it.”

“Chip…” you say softly, shaking your head. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

He scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kicks at a loose pebble on the sidewalk. “Didn’t I? I yelled at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I didn’t,” you admit, your honesty making him glance at you sharply. “But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Chip stops walking for a moment, looking down at you as if searching for something in your expression. “Yeah,” he says after a pause, his voice quieter. “You are.”

You offer him a small, tentative smile, your hands brushing together as you both start walking again. “We all have bad days, Chip. It doesn’t mean you’re a lost cause.”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

“Not always,” you admit, nudging him lightly. “But I figure as long as you keep showing up, I’ll keep trying.”

Chip looks at you then, something soft and unreadable in his eyes. For the first time that night, the tension in his shoulders seems to ease just a little. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice so low you almost don’t catch it.

You don’t respond right away, letting the moment hang in the cool night air. Instead, you glance up at the stars, hoping he feels even half as much comfort in your presence as you do in his.

—

Chip doesn’t come around for a few weeks after that night, and though you tried not to worry, the silence gnawed at you. When he finally shows up, it’s worse than you ever imagined.

The knock at your door is soft, almost hesitant. When you open it, the sight of him makes your stomach drop. He’s standing there with a deep gash running along his cheek, blood crusted at the edges, and his eyes red and puffy like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Chip!” you gasp, your heart pounding. “What happened? Get in here, now.”

He tries to offer a weak smile, but it falters under the weight of whatever he’s carrying. “It’s not that bad,” he mutters, wincing as he speaks.

“Not that bad?” you echo, incredulous. “You’ve got blood on your face, Chip. Sit down before you fall over.”

Without waiting for him to argue, you guide him to the bathroom, your hands firm but gentle as you steer him. He sinks down onto the edge of the tub, his shoulders slumping, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

You position yourself between his legs, tilting his chin up with careful fingers so you can get a better look at the wound. “Hold still,” you murmur, your tone softer now.

He exhales shakily, his breath warm against your wrist. “Sorry,” he says quietly, his voice thick with guilt.

“Don’t apologize,” you say, grabbing a clean washcloth and wetting it under the faucet. “Just tell me what happened.”

Chip hesitates, his eyes darting away from yours. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles, his hands gripping the edge of the tub tightly.

“It’s not nothing,” you counter, your voice steady but firm as you press the damp cloth gently against his cheek. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “You don’t just show up with a gash like this for no reason.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, his jaw clenching under your gentle touch. “Liza and I got into it again,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “She… she had a bottle. Things got out of hand.”

Your hands freeze mid-motion as the name registers. “Liza?” you repeat, stepping back slightly, the washcloth dangling in your hand. “Who’s Liza?”

Chip’s eyes widen briefly, like he hadn’t meant to let the name slip. He swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the tiled floor. “She’s, uh… my girlfriend,” he mutters, the words heavy with shame.

“Your girlfriend?” you echo, the word catching in your throat. “Chip, are you telling me your girlfriend did this to you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his hands gripping the edge of the tub so tightly his knuckles turn white. Finally, he nods, barely meeting your gaze. “Yeah,” he says softly. “She’s got a temper, and sometimes… I just—I make her mad, you know?”

You stare at him, disbelief and anger swirling in your chest. “Chip, no,” you say firmly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay calm. “This isn’t about you making her mad. This is about her. This isn’t okay.”

He shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “It’s not like that all the time,” he says defensively. “She’s… she’s just going through a lot. I’m trying to help her.”

“Help her?” you say, stepping closer again, your voice rising slightly. “Chip, look at yourself. She’s hurting you. How is that okay?”

“I can handle it,” he insists, though his voice wavers. “It’s not a big deal.”

You crouch down in front of him, your hand resting gently on his knee. “It is a big deal,” you say softly but firmly. “You don’t deserve this, Chip. No one does.”

He looks at you then, his eyes glassy and full of conflict, as if he’s trying to decide whether to believe you. For a moment, the room is silent except for the hum of the overhead light, the weight of his pain filling the small bathroom.

“This isn’t okay, Chip,” you say, your voice firm but trembling with emotion. You grip the edge of the counter behind you, your knuckles white, steadying yourself as you speak.

“I can handle it,” he insists, his tone hollow and unconvincing. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, his gaze fixed on the floor like he’s trying to will the words into being true.

But you won’t let him sink back into that silence, not this time. “Handling it isn’t enough,” you counter, your voice soft but unyielding. “You deserve better than this, Chip.”

He lets out a heavy breath, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple. I’ve tried… leaving, fixing things, I’ve tried everything. And every time, it just gets worse.”

Your heart aches at the rawness in his voice, the hopelessness that seeps through every word. Slowly, you kneel in front of him, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Chip, listen to me,” you say gently, placing your hands on his knees. “You don’t have to fix this alone. You don’t have to keep going back. There are people who care about you—I care about you. Let me help.”

His lips press into a thin line, his jaw clenching as his emotions swirl just beneath the surface. “What if it doesn’t work?” he whispers, his voice cracking. “What if I can’t get away?”

“You can,” you say firmly, leaning closer. “And you will. But you have to let someone in, Chip. You have to let someone help you.”

He swallows hard, blinking rapidly like he’s trying to hold himself together. “Why do you care so much?” he asks, his voice small and hesitant, like he’s afraid of the answer.

You squeeze his knees gently, your eyes locked on his. “Because you deserve better,” you say simply. “And I’m not going to let you believe you don’t.”

For a long moment, he just stares at you, the weight of your words settling over him. Then, slowly, he nods, the tiniest flicker of hope breaking through the despair in his eyes. “Okay,” he whispers, the word so faint you almost don’t hear it.

But you do, and it’s enough. It’s a start.

—

“Where have you been?” Liza slurred drunkenly, her voice thick and venomous as Chip quietly closed the trailer door behind him. She was sitting on the couch, a half-empty bottle of something strong dangling from her hand, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Uh, nowhere?” Chip replied timidly, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to avoid her gaze.

Liza snorted, her lips curling into a sneer. “What’s her name?” she shot back, leaning forward unsteadily. “Little Miss Nowhere?”

Chip froze, his throat tightening as he searched for something—anything—that might diffuse the situation. “It’s not like that, Liza,” he said carefully, his voice trembling just enough to betray his nerves.

“Oh, it’s not like that?” she mocked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You think I’m stupid, Chip? You come sneaking in here like some guilty teenager, and I’m supposed to believe you were just out… what? Taking a walk?”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” he mumbled, stepping further into the room, though he kept his distance from her. “I just—needed some air. That’s all.”

“Air, huh?” Liza spat, taking a swig from the bottle and setting it down hard on the coffee table. “Funny how you always seem to need air somewhere else. Who is she, Chip? Huh? Some charity case who feels bad for you?”

“Stop, Liza,” he said softly, his voice pleading. “You’re drunk.”

“Oh, don’t you dare tell me what I am,” she snapped, standing up abruptly and swaying slightly. “You’re the one sneaking around, lying to me, and I’m the problem?”

Chip’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his chest tight with frustration and fear. “I’m not lying to you,” he said quietly, though the exhaustion in his voice was unmistakable.

“Sure you’re not,” she hissed, stepping closer, her eyes locked onto his. “But let me tell you something, Chip—you think you can just waltz in and out of here, running to whoever she is? You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

He flinched at her words, his head dipping as he avoided her gaze. “I’m tired, Liza,” he said softly. “I don’t want to do this tonight.”

“Yeah?” she barked, her voice rising. “Well, tough shit, because I’m not done.”

But Chip didn’t respond. He turned and walked toward the bedroom, his shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world. Behind him, Liza’s words kept coming, sharp and slurred, but he didn’t look back.

As he closed the door behind him, he leaned against it, his chest heaving with shaky breaths. The fight had drained him, but your voice—steady and kind from earlier—echoed faintly in his mind.

“You don’t deserve this, Chip.”

And for the first time, he wondered if you might be right.

—

It was like clockwork, hearing the knock on your door. You didn’t think twice before opening it, expecting the usual sheepish face and bruises.

“What is it today, Chip—” you began, but the words died in your throat as you froze.

It wasn’t Chip. It was Liza.

Before you could react, she pushed her way inside, her movements unsteady but fueled by a drunken determination. The sharp, acrid scent of alcohol clung to her, and her eyes narrowed as they darted around your space, taking in every detail.

“So you’re the little twinkie my Chip keeps running off to see?” she sneered, her words slurred but cutting.

“What? Um, no,” you stammered, panic rising as you took a step back. “We’re just—uh, we’re friends.”

Liza let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and humorless as she staggered toward you, her eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity. “Friends?” she spat. “Don’t give me that. I wasn’t born yesterday. You think I don’t know what’s going on?”

Your chest tightened, your heart pounding as you tried to stay calm. “Why are you in my home?” you demanded, your voice trembling despite your attempt at firmness.

Liza ignored the question, her gaze sweeping the room again before settling back on you. “You think you’re better than me, don’t you?” she hissed, taking another step closer. “Playing the good little Samaritan, patching him up, feeding him your pity. You think you can just take him from me?”

“No one’s trying to take anyone,” you said, your voice steadier now as you held your ground. “Chip’s my friend, that’s all. But if you’re here to cause trouble, you need to leave.”

Liza’s sneer deepened, her body swaying slightly as she crossed her arms. “Trouble?” she mocked. “Oh, honey, you don’t know the half of it.”

Your stomach churned as she stared you down, her presence filling the room with a volatile energy that made it hard to breathe. “Liza, I’m asking you nicely. Get out,” you said, your tone firmer now.

But she just laughed again, the sound colder than before. “Or what?” she challenged, leaning in closer. “You gonna run to Chip? Beg him to save you from big, bad Liza?”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing for how to handle this without escalating things further. “No,” you said firmly, your voice low and measured. “I don’t need anyone to save me. But you need to leave. Now.”

Liza’s expression faltered for just a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing over her face before she straightened up, wobbling slightly. “Fine,” she snapped, turning toward the door. “But you’d better stay away from him. Because if I find out you’re messing with what’s mine…”

She didn’t finish the threat, but the weight of her words hung heavy in the air as she stumbled out of your home, slamming the door behind her.

You stood there for a moment, your heart racing as you tried to process what had just happened. Finally, you locked the door, leaning against it as you exhaled shakily.

And all you could think was, What the hell has Chip gotten himself into?

The rest of the day was a blur, the encounter with Liza leaving a sour knot in your stomach. That evening, for the first time in weeks, you weren’t home when Chip came knocking. Work had called, and with bills looming, you couldn’t afford to say no.

When Chip arrived at your door, his knock was softer than usual, almost hesitant. He waited, shuffling on the porch, but there was no answer. He tried again, his hand lingering on the doorframe as he glanced around. Still nothing.

Unsure of what else to do, Chip slumped down onto the steps of your porch, his legs stretched out as the weight of everything pressed down on him. The fight with Liza, the exhaustion from trying to keep it all together, the growing guilt over dragging you into his mess—it all swirled in his head, loud and unrelenting.

He hadn’t meant to stay long. Just a few minutes to collect himself before heading back to the chaos. But the cool night air and the relative safety of your porch lulled him into stillness, and before he knew it, his eyes grew heavy.

By the time you got home, the clock was nearing midnight. You were juggling your keys and a bag of groceries when you noticed the figure curled up on your porch. Your heart skipped a beat before recognition settled in.

“Chip?” you called softly, stepping closer.

He stirred at the sound of your voice, groggy and disoriented. “Hey,” he mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and concern. “Why didn’t you call?”

“I did,” he said, his voice raspy from sleep. “Your phone went straight to voicemail. Thought I’d wait for you.”

Your chest tightened as you took in the sight of him—his slumped posture, the faint bruise blooming on his jaw, the weariness etched into every line of his face. You crouched down beside him, setting your bag aside. “Chip, you can’t sleep on my porch.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he admitted, his voice low. “I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your frustration melted at the vulnerability in his tone, replaced by a wave of empathy. “Come on,” you said gently, standing and reaching for his hand. “Let’s get you inside.”

Chip hesitated, glancing up at you, his eyes glassy and unsure. But when you offered him a small, reassuring smile, he let out a soft sigh and took your hand.

The next morning, the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee filled the air. You hummed softly to yourself as you worked in the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder every so often to make sure Chip hadn’t snuck off. But there he was, sitting at the small table, bleary-eyed and tousle-haired, looking more like a lost puppy than the rugged man who had crashed on your porch.

When you placed a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him, he blinked at it, then up at you. “You didn’t have to do this,” he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion he didn’t quite know how to hide.

“Just eat,” you said with a small smile, brushing it off like it was no big deal. But when he picked up a piece of bacon, his hands trembled slightly. You noticed the way his eyes glistened, though he quickly looked down, blinking hard as if the sight of breakfast had somehow betrayed him.

You leaned against the counter, watching him take a hesitant bite, and the words spilled out before you could second-guess them. “Move in with me.”

Chip froze mid-bite, his eyes widening as he choked on the bacon. He coughed, grabbing his coffee to wash it down, and stared at you like you’d just grown a second head. “What?” he croaked, his voice cracking.

“I don’t want you going back to her,” you said simply, your tone steady despite the racing of your heart. “You basically live here already, so why not make it permanent?”

“Y/N…” he stammered, setting his fork down as his brow furrowed. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” you replied, stepping closer. “I don’t want you in that situation anymore, Chip. You don’t deserve it.”

“I can’t pay much in rent,” he said, his voice quiet, almost ashamed.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I own the house, Chip. You’re not paying rent. Just… contribute when you can, okay? Groceries, light bills, whatever. This isn’t about money.”

He stared at you, the conflict in his eyes giving way to something softer, something that looked a lot like hope. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t,” you said with a reassuring smile. “You’re not alone, Chip. You don’t have to go back to that trailer.”

For a moment, he was silent, his gaze dropping to the plate of food you’d made for him. Then he nodded slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said finally, his voice shaky. “I’ll stay.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, relief washing over you. “Good,” you said with a small smile. “Now finish your breakfast before it gets cold.”

Chip nodded again, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he picked up his fork. But this time, there was a faint glimmer of something in his expression—a flicker of trust, of gratitude, of believing.

—

That weekend, you decided Chip deserved a break—a real one. So, you took him out for a round of celebratory drinks at your favorite local spot, a small, cozy bar with dim lighting, a jukebox that played everything from old country to classic rock, and a bartender who knew how to pour a drink just right.

For the first time in a long while, there was no drama, no blood, no tension hanging over your heads. Just you and Chip, relaxed and laughing like nothing else in the world mattered.

“Okay, okay,” You said, your voice loud enough to be heard over the faint buzz of conversation and clinking glasses. “But you’re seriously telling me you thought you could just jump off the roof into a pool without calculating the distance first? That’s, like, Physics 101!”

Chip rolled his eyes, tipping his glass toward you. “Hey, I was fifteen, and I thought I was invincible. Plus, I didn’t think anyone was going to snitch to my parents about it.”

You laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained, and Chip couldn’t help but smile. It was good to see you like this, guard down, shoulders loose, your eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck,” You teased, taking a sip of your drink. “You’ve got guts, though. I’ll give you that.”

“Damn right, I do,” He shot back with a grin, raising his glass. “Here’s to bad decisions and living to tell the tale.”

You clinked his bottle against your glass, his smile softening as he looked at you. “I’ll drink to that,” you said, your voice quieter now.

The two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm, the conversation flowing easily as you swapped stories, teased each other, and indulged in just a little casual flirting. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the moment, but something about the way Chip looked at you that night felt… different.

“Thanks for this,” he said suddenly, leaning back in his chair and giving you a small, genuine smile. “I don’t remember the last time I had a night like this. No stress. No bullshit. Just… good company.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you played it cool, swirling the last of your drink in your glass. “Well, you deserve it,” you said, meeting his gaze. “Besides, I like seeing you like this. Relaxed. Happy.”

His smile widened, and for a brief moment, the rest of the bar seemed to fade away. “I think that’s all you,” he said softly, his voice carrying just enough weight to make your heart skip.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to mask the sudden flutter in your chest. “Flattery will get you another round,” you teased, sliding out of your seat.

Chip laughed, shaking his head as he watched you walk toward the bar. And as the night stretched on, filled with more drinks, more laughs, and the kind of easy connection that felt rare and precious, you both couldn’t help but think: Maybe this is how things are supposed to feel.

But, of course, nice things never last. One minute, you were smiling and turning your head to flag down the bartender for another drink while Chip slipped off to the bathroom. The atmosphere was light, carefree. For a fleeting moment, it felt like everything might actually be okay.

And then, chaos.

The first thing you registered was the searing pain. Your head snapped forward as something—or rather, someone—slammed your face into the edge of the bar. The world spun, and your hands flew up to your nose instinctively, warmth already spreading down your face.

Screams erupted around you, voices blending into a cacophony of panic and confusion. Blinking through the haze, you turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of her—Liza.

Her face was twisted with rage, her body shaking as she pointed a trembling finger at you. “You think you can just take him from me?” she spat, her voice slurred and venomous. “You think you’re better than me, huh? Well, guess what, sweetheart—he’s mine!”

Blood dripped between your fingers, your likely broken nose throbbing with every beat of your heart. You staggered back, trying to create space between you and her as bar patrons scrambled out of the way, some yelling for security, others too stunned to react.

“Liza,” you managed, your voice muffled and shaky as you tried to steady yourself. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You’re pathetic,” she hissed, taking a step toward you, her eyes wild. “You think you can fix him? Save him? He doesn’t need you!”

Before she could lunge again, a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her back. Chip. His face was pale, his eyes wide with horror as he restrained her, his voice shaking as he said, “Liza, stop! What the hell is wrong with you?”

She fought against his hold, screaming obscenities as her feet kicked against the floor. “You lied to me, Chip!” she shrieked. “You said you’d always be there! You said we’d work it out!”

“Let’s go,” Chip said firmly, dragging her toward the exit as she thrashed in his grip. “You’re done. Get out.”

As they disappeared through the door, the bartender rushed over to you, his face full of concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, handing you a wad of napkins to stem the bleeding.

“I—I don’t know,” you stammered, pressing the napkins against your nose as your vision blurred with tears of pain and shock.

Moments later, Chip returned, his chest heaving as he burst back into the bar. His eyes scanned the crowd frantically until they landed on you, sitting on a stool, blood dripping between your fingers. His face crumpled with guilt and horror.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” he breathed, rushing to your side and crouching down in front of you. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault,” you mumbled through the pain, though your voice trembled, and the blood on your hands told a different story.

“It is,” Chip said, his voice low and filled with self-reproach as he grabbed more napkins from the bartender. “It all is. If I’d just—if I hadn’t—” He stopped himself, shaking his head as he pressed the napkins into your hands. “Here. Hold these tight, okay?”

You didn’t argue, taking the napkins and wincing as you held them against your throbbing nose. The room felt too loud, too crowded, the stares from the other patrons pressing down on you like weights.

Minutes later, the flashing lights of an ambulance cut through the chaos outside. Chip helped you to your feet, his hand steady on your back as paramedics ushered you into the back of the vehicle. The world felt surreal, the adrenaline in your veins masking the full extent of the pain radiating through your face.

“Stay still,” one of the paramedics instructed as they examined you, their hands gentle but efficient. You caught glimpses of Chip through the open door, standing a few feet away, his posture tense as he spoke with the police.

He gestured animatedly, his words spilling out in hurried bursts. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but you could see the guilt etched into every movement, the way he ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders slumping as he pointed back toward the bar.

When the officer nodded and took notes, Chip glanced back at you, his expression raw and heavy with regret.

Inside the ambulance, the paramedic gave you a small smile, her voice calm. “It looks like your nose is broken, but it’s a clean break. We’ll take you to the hospital to get it checked out.”

You nodded weakly, your eyes flickering back to Chip outside. 

—

When you arrived home that night, the sound of hurried footsteps greeted you even before you stepped through the door. Chip was pacing the living room, his hands raking through his hair in nervous, jittery motions.

The moment the door clicked open, he froze and turned toward you, his face lighting up with a mixture of relief and worry. “Y/N? Y/N, oh my god, you’re okay,” he blurted, rushing toward you like a man on a mission.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at his intensity, though it turned into a groan as the pain in your nose flared. “I’m fine, Chip,” you assured him, though your voice came out a little nasally thanks to the bandages.

Chip stopped in front of you, his eyes scanning your face with a mixture of guilt and concern. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come to get you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “You had the car keys, and I—I didn’t know how to—”

“Chip,” you interrupted, smiling despite the ache in your face. “It’s fine. Really. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

He hesitated, his eyes lingering on your bruises and the fresh bandage across your nose. “I still feel like an idiot,” he muttered, his voice heavy with regret.

“Don’t,” you said firmly, placing a hand on his arm. “None of this is your fault.”

He let out a shaky sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. “They arrested Liza,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “I told them everything. All of it.”

“Everything?” you echoed, your brows lifting slightly despite the stiffness in your face.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “They’re gonna want you to testify, though. Against her. I—” He paused, looking up at you, his expression pleading. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”

“I’ll do it,” you said without hesitation, cutting him off.

Chip’s eyes widened. “You will?”

“Of course,” you said softly. “She hurt you, Chip. And tonight, she hurt me. I’m not going to let her keep doing this—not to you, not to anyone.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his jaw working like he was struggling to find the right words. Finally, he nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Thank you,” he whispered.

You reached out, squeezing his arm gently. “We’ll get through this,” you said, your voice steady. “Together.”

Chip’s shoulders relaxed slightly at your words, the tension visibly melting away. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment too long, and for whatever reason his brain cooked up, he decided that right then was the perfect time to kiss you.

Before you could even react, his lips met yours—not hard, not rough, but just enough to remind you that, oh yeah, you had a freshly set nose.

“Ow!” you grunted, pulling back sharply, your hand flying up to cradle your face.

Chip’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh my god! I’m sorry! I didn’t think—”

But the ridiculousness of it all hit you before the pain fully registered, and a laugh bubbled out of you. “Chip, seriously?” you managed between giggles, wincing but unable to stop yourself from laughing.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I—I don’t know what I was thinking,” he stammered, his cheeks flushing bright red. “Guess I got caught up in the moment or something. Stupid, right?”

You kept laughing, the sound slightly strangled as you tried to avoid moving your nose too much. “You think?” you teased, giving him a playful shove. “Maybe next time don’t kiss someone who just got their face rearranged, genius.”

Chip chuckled, his embarrassment giving way to a genuine laugh as he looked at you. “Noted,” he said, his grin growing. “Maybe I’ll, uh, ask for permission first next time.”

“Good idea,” you replied with a smirk, your hand still gently holding your nose. “But hey, points for effort, I guess.”

He laughed again, his shoulders shaking as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll take what I can get.”

As the laughter faded, the two of you sat there in the quiet, the moment lighter than it had been all night. And despite the throbbing in your nose, you couldn’t help but feel a little warmth spread through your chest. Even if his timing was terrible, it was still Chip—and maybe, just maybe, there was something to that.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[realcube]

WRATH & LUST . t.kei / y.tadashi

synopsis ✧ you hate tsukishima kei. you do everything in your power to make his life miserable but nothing works. now you have no choice but to fuck his best friend

cws/tags ✧ college au , enemies to enemies who screw, cursing, fob, smut, vaginal, oral (recieving) & praise — minors dni

parts ✧ i. ii. iii. iv.

maybe you were overexaggerating a bit when you said that yamaguchi is always with tsukishima, because there are a couple times a week when you know they'll be apart.

your friend is a part of the college's newspaper club, and she mentioned that yamaguchi is a member too, but tsukishima isn't. this gave you the perfect opportunity to the catch him alone and prey on his weakest form.

you saunter up to the news room, and catch yamaguchi waiting outside. they don't usually enter until your friend, the chief editor, arrives. "excuse me?"

your voice is soft and inviting, hence yamaguchi is stunned when he turns to see you. his guard is up, but unlike tsukishima, he doesn't immediately resort to aggression, "yes?" he replies quietly.

"is this the newspaper society?" you ask innocently, tilting your head with a smile.

yamaguchi is unsure as to why you are being so mellow towards him, considering your history, but as he chokes back a gulp, he figures that maybe your negative sentiments are purely towards tsukishima and up until now he has just been caught in the crossfire.

"yes, this is. i'm waiting for the editor to get here."

"oh, hana?" your lips are parts slightly, as he nods, "she is my friend. i'm sure she won't mind if we just go in."

"are you sure?" his questions is basically answered as he watches you enter the news room. he hesitantly follows behind, thinking he can shift the blame onto you if the chief editor is upset.

"so, are you a member? i've never seen you here before." he asks while fidgeting with his hands, taking a seat in his usual spot.

"no, not yet. i want to join though which is why i'm here." you sit near yamaguchi, on the table, "but i hear you're full. could you put in a good word for me, tadashi?"

you giggle. bafflement and wary burn at his face, dusting his cheeks a slight pink, "if you're friends with hana then i'm sure you don't need me to talk you up to her."

"well, yeah, but she's reluctant to let me join because, in her words, i can be 'volatile and confrontational'." you muse, legs swinging lightly as you turn to look at yamaguchi with a knowing smirk, "i'm so not, though. you can vouch for me, right?"

yamaguchi blinks, then responds, "yeah. you're the most docile person i know."

you find it cute that he plays along with your jokes. plus, now that you're actually taking a good look at him, you realise he has such a sweet, squishable face. how does the sweetest boy ever end up in the company of lucifer incarnate?

"i wouldn't say docile. that's too far-fetched." you tease.

"mild?"

"eh."

"poise?"

"i like that one but still no."

"composed?"

"that could work!" you cheer, displaying the palm of your hand he insantly reciprocates with a high-five. just as your shared laughter begins to die down, hana and a couple other members of the newspaper society enter the room.

you spend the rest of the hour in the back of the room, working on an article with yamaguchi. your friend knew about your plan, and she didn't mind you utilising her society to achieve your end goal, but you'd hate to impede on her work flow for too long so you pulled out all the stops to ensure you gain tadashi's favour as quickly as possible.

and it worked like a charm. despite never having communicated directly with each other before, you chatted throughout the whole hour like you were lifelong best friends. there was an undeniable chemistry between the two of you — the sweet and sour.

plus, you both have a lot more in common than you may have initially thought. your music tastes are very similar, surprisingly, and you like the same movies/shows. he shows you a couple of his playlists and you do the same, discussing the concerts you've been to and what merchandise you have.

you learned that he is studying to be an electronic engineer while tsukishima is studying history, but he chose maths electives just so they could be in a couple of classes together. they also used to do volleyball together in highschool and are both apart of the volleyball society in college.

so corny and so cheesy but coming from the mouth of yamaguchi, it was the sweetest, most moving story of friendship you've ever heard.

even when meeting ended, you both still walked together out of the building, blathering away about anything and everything, it comes to an abrupt holt when you reach the building's exit.

perplexed, yamaguchi asks, "which way are you going? if you want, i could walk you to your bus stop?"

you smile awkwardly, pretending to be sheepish about the proposition despite it being exactly what you anticipated, "i would love that. but i don't think tsukishima would be too delighted to see us together."

yamaguchi frowns at the reminder but nods.

"but," you continue, pulling a pen and scrap piece of paper from your bag and hurriedly jotting something down, "you can ring me if you ever want to talk. or anything else." you hand it to him with a wink and yamaguchi's throat dies up at your suggestion, he is barely able to croak out an 'okay'.

"see you later!" you skip off and yamaguchi is left speechless behind.

ೃ⁀➷

you had warmed up to each other very quickly. texting each other videos, emojis and pictures every other minute. didn't even take two days before you both had a shared playlist. you were up until ungodly hours of the night facetiming each other.

it was so frequent, yamaguchi had to change your contact information to a fake name because he was getting tired of constantly having to hide his phone from tsukishima, since there was bound to be a notification from you on his screen.

"are you gonna buy tickets tonight???" "noooo don't remind me tadashi" "what's the matter ???😧" "wi-fi sucks at my houseee. i never get concert tickets on time. always end up paying resale prices 😤" "you can come to mine if you want! my wifi is good"

you took him up on his offer. you went over to his dorm at 10PM, since tickets when on sale at 11PM in your time zone. (darn international artists!)

it was a blood-bath but by the grace of god you both successfully secured two tickets to see your favourite artist performing live, with seats very close to the stage!

so of course you had to celebrate somehow.

shaky breathes escaped his lips, soft moans intertwined. his shirt had come off, exposing his tan skin to the hot atmosphere of his bedroom. hypnotised by the way your tight cunt sucked needily on his cock, dripping cum all over his bare shaft.

his gaze was only freed from your sex when he was nearing his climax and a sudden bolt of ecstasy wracked through him, causing his eyes to roll back, "so tight, (y/n)." he grunted, grabbing your ass and squeezing it.

he had you sprawled out over his bed face down, while he stood by the edge and fucked you from behind. he gave you a pillow to rest your cute head on so your neck wouldn't hurt, and he held your legs by his sides while he ploughed into you. four years of volleyball practise has its uses.

his pace is relentless but rhythmic; at first he fucked you leisurely, allowing you to appreciate every inch of him as he'd pull out of you excruciatingly slowly, then ease himself back in until his achy tip prodded your cervix. he wasn't doing it to torment you though, just to give you some time to grow accustomed to his length.

it was better that way; your desperate pussy welcomed him instead of trying to force him out. in fact, it clung to him so tightly it was challenging for him to pull out of you, somehow he managed.

as he approached his orgasm, his thrusts became hurried and sloppy, raring to spill inside your sopping pussy. but ever the altruist, he slips his fingers between your legs to press and rub at your clit fervently, "close, baby?"

his cock splits in you half, and your pussy throbs around him. the power with which he rams into you has made you hazy, drooling mess, only able to weakly buck your hips in reciprocation to his thrusts. you try to whine a meek 'yes' but your face is buried in the pillow, thus yamaguchi only hears an unclear, muffled noise.

he furrows his brows and moves his hands up to your waist, "'m gonna flip you over, yeah?" he pants, still fucking you as he talks, "wanna see that pretty face." in a surge of strength and energy, he pulls you off the bed and flips you onto your back, offering you a gentle smile when you lock eyes.

you weakly smile back, about the only autonomy you could exhibit while his cock continued to pound into you, moulding your walls around him. you were losing control of yourself with each thrust; clinging to the sheets and allow a string of lewd moans and profanities spill from your mouth. somewhere in the mix there was his name.

"tadashi.."

your eyes were closed, and your melodious voice called out for him to save you, like he wasn't tucked inside you. hearing you say his name like that — so filthy and obscene — delighted him in ways he didn't know were possible and only urged him closer to his climax. "(y/n), say that again, please."

the wet slapping noises he made against your cunt grew louder; it was a miracle you could still hear his pastel voice. being railed into the plush sheets of his bed, your mind and body were in two different realms, so when you tried to utter his name once more, all that came out was a series of moans and gasps.

"c'mon, (y/n)." he pled, gripping onto your hips like you are his life force, "i need you. be a good girl for me, please."

he punctuated each word with a harsh thrust, brushing your cervix each time and it didn't take much else for you to come crash down around him. spasming and twitching on his dick, your scream echoing through the room while he fucked you through it. your throbbing pussy still being used for his pleasure.

even when you were nearing completion, your pussy still fluttered around him and you squealed, "tadashi!" as the world became hazy and blurred around you.

which was enough to send him hurdling over the edge too. his teeth are gritted together and his hands tense on your waist when he cums inside you. his thrusts waver for only a moment before he temporarily resumes, this time with less vigour and with the sole purpose of milking himself dry inside you.

once he could feel his hot cum packed safely within your walls, he was finally able to gasp for air. he doesn't want to pull out, he's comfortable as he is, but the curious part of him wants to see how his load looks inside you.

he pulls out, only to kneel and examine your glistening hole. too fucked out and sore, you lay on the bed and try to catch your breath, allowing him to push your legs wide open without protest.

"so pretty." he mused, watch as a bit of his cum dribbles out of your pussy and onto your ass. not to worry though, as he uses his two fingers to guide it back inside you. idly, he pushes his fingers inside you and revels at how tight you still are.

"you're perfect." without thinking about it, he curls his fingers inside, then delicately drags them in and out, wrenching a feeble whine from your throat. "do you know how perfect you are?"

he pressed a loving kiss against your clit before poking his head up from between your legs to look at you. "mm" is all you respond with. he chuckles, "that's not a yes or no, baby."

he doesn't dwell on it too long. he'll stop bothering you now by trying to get you to respond to him; you're probably still recovering from your intense orgasm. yamaguchi goes back to admiring your hole, captivated by how his cum has filled you up, and whenever it tries to escape but it is prevented from doing so by his fingers.

"you look so beautiful like this. i wanna burn this image into my brain so i can keep it forever." he kisses your pussy again, french this time. his lips move graciously against your folds and his tongue plunges inside you. you taste so good, so intoxicating, he moans into your skin, the vibrations causing you to gasp. he continues to suck and lick inside your puckered hole, until he gets a taste of himself on his tongue, which causes him to falter and slowly pull away.

"i've never had sex with a girl on the pill before. but this was just.." he can't seem to find the word he's looking for. perhaps it doesn't exist. "amazing. well, that doesn't even cover half of it." he grins foolishly, caressing the inside of your thigh and still gazing at your hole.

"yeah." after lying motionless for a while, you seem to have finally come back down to earth and can form full sentences again. "amitriptyline is great, isn't it?"

"uhuh.." he muses, thinking about how gorgeous you look until what you said finally registers in head and he springs to his feet, "what!?"

[simpforsoap]

Monsterous Lovers- Part Two

Part 1 and Part 3

Hybrids weren’t uncommon. They appeared sometime during the 1300’s. No one was really sure where they originated from, not even the hybrids seemed to know, but as time went on their population started to grow. At first humans and hybrids lived amongst each other, those were known as the pre-war times. By 1401, there was an attack. The story has been told and reshaped over the years to fit the narrative of who tells it, humans saying that hybrids attacked their village while hybrids saying that humans attacked their kind first. No one knows what happened exact, but the war broke out in the spring of 1401, lasting nearly 105 years. For the time period, humans were unable to defend themselves against the hybrids that attacked and as a result the human population dropped significantly, into the low millions. Hybrids were not in any better of shape, their own population having dwindled due to the war and lack of neccesities that were needed for them to strive. In 1506 the Living Peace Treaty was signed, an agreement for hybrids and humans to stop attacking one another and allow their populations to regrow. There was a tense period of time after the treaty where humans and hybrids seemed to be at one anothers throats, but there was no more wars. 

As time went on, history notes there was always a separation between humans and hybrids, but the lined seemed to blur the more time carried on. During the 1920’s, when humans seemed to be at war with one another, hybrids took a stand and joined forces with humans alike. Lives were lost between both species but there was a mutual agreement that humans and hybrids could coexist with one another in peace. By the turn of the 21st century, you could walk the streets and see humans and hybrids living amongst each other, even some in relationships and whatnot.

Price and them were no strangers to the judgmental comments and borderline xenophobic tendencies some humans still had towards them. They had worked their way up in the military, creating their own little pack with one another throughout their years of working together. Despite their differences from one another, they worked like a well oiled machine. Perhaps it was all the endless deadly missions that never seemed to stop the killing of both humans and hybrids alike, or perhaps it was the lack of comfort they found when coming back to the base after those missions, but the four of them each longed for a sense of normality. To come back from a mission, not to the base where they couldn’t separate work from living, but rather a place where they could truly call it home.

That’s what Price believed as he stood in the driveway of your home; that this was a potential home to him and his boys. The entire drive to the property, Soap couldn’t stop ranting and raving about the photos he seen online with the ad you had posted and even though they were each wanting him to be quiet in their own way, it was a good thing Soap had seemed to love it so much just based on photos. Because in person? This home was immaculate and seemed like it was exactly what Price had pictured as their home. 

The house was ranch styled, a large porch with a covered entry way. A porch swing snestled to the right of the door, Price feeling like it was an idea spot to sit and enjoy a cigar while overlooking the front of the property. The 20 acres of woods surrounding the house were thick, Soap wanting nothing more than to shift into his wolf and take off into the woods for a run. The house was a little more secluded than they had thought, but it was perfect. And they hadn’t even seen the inside of it! 

As they toured the outside of the house first, Ghost insisting to ensure it was secure as he told you, Price felt more relaxed. There was a little garden on the south side of the home, something he could clearly picture you kneeling in and tending to during the summer months. You lead them around the house, showing off the small gazebo in the back yard, little lantern lights hanging around the inside. The four of them followed as you walked the small stone path to the back patio, Price taking note of the lack of patio furniture before leading them inside. 

“I know it’s kind of messy right now, I was in the process of cleaning up the house to make room when I had to leave.” You gave them a small smile, pushing some empty boxes against the wall so they wouldn’t trip on them. 

Soap just smiled with a small laugh, naturally throwing an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the glare Price gave him, “nah, it’s fine lassie. Though, I gotta ask, you really live here alone?”

You took a tiny breath through your nose, needing to steady yourself for the question you knew you’d have to answer, “yes, I do. I did have…someone living with me before but there was a..um..accident of sorts and I took over the house.” 

Ghost could pick up the anxious look in your eye from a mile away, the mask hiding his facial expressions from you, but you could see the way his eyes narrowed at your words, “anyways, the house itself is a 5 bed 5 bath home. Allows you some space to do what you please with. Shared living room and kitchen of course, but I can designate some spots in the kitchen for the each of you so you can have your own spot to put stuff in. The rooms are upstairs, do you want me to show you?”

“Yes, please love.” Gaz gave a smile at you, easing the tension from your shoulders a bit. You could tell both Gaz and Soap seemed to give you the natural ability to find a sense of familiarity in them. 

You showed them the upstairs of the home, the four of them taking their time in examining each room, taking mental notes on where the each of them could fit in and what they wanted to do with the space. You ended the tour in the kitchen, standing with your hands in your hoodie pocket. 

“Well, what do you think? I know it’s probably not super luxurious, but it’s a comfortable home and I’m not one to get into much of your business.” You give them a smile, watching the way the four of them seemed to have having a silent conversation with one another through their eyes. 

Right as you were beginning to worry they would decline the offer, Price spoke up, “we believe this is exactly what we are looking for. Would you like rent from all of us or just the overall 2500?”

“Oh heavens no, just the 2500. I know it’s a bit on the pricey side but--” before you could say more, Price cut you off with a smal wave of his hand. 

“Nonsense, we make more than enough to cover that. Now, we are active military as Soap here told you in the messages so we are in and out of the house a lot for missions, but we will always communicate with you on the duration of our leave will be.” Price crossed his arms, your eyes flicking to the way his scaled forearms seemed to glint in the light. 

You took a small breath to steady yourself before nodding, “of course. I have the lease written for a year at the moment, but we can extend it if you’d like to after that.” 

Price nodded, “of course. Now, I suppose I shall bring it up first. We are hybrids, each of us are our own beings. I, myself, am a dragon. Soap here is a werewolf, Gaz is a Harpy and Ghost is a wraith. Is that something you are absolutely sure you’re comfortable with? There’s no offense if you’re not, we understand there can be a bit of..troubles sometimes.”

You give a small smile nodding, “yes, I am completely fine with that. I do want to finish cleaning things up around here, but tomorrow morning if you’d like you can move your stuff into the rooms.”

You took a mental note of what Price said, wanting to search it up later so you knew just what exactly you were getting yourself into.

“Perfect. We will be here at 9:00 sharp then, love.” Price smiled and you shook his hand your hand feeling hot at his touch. 

---------

As Price drove back to the base, the car ride was mostly silent. Soap was practically buzzing in his seat, desperate to say something to fill the silence. Price glanced at him through the rearview mirror before letting a breath out, “speak your mind, Johnny.”

Soap wasted no time, leaning forward in his seat with a large smile on his face, “we just hit the jackpot! She’s absolutely stunning and that house? Perfect for us in every way…even with the scent of strawberries and mint..she smells devine.”

Gaz shook his head at Soap’s words, though the smile and slight ruffle to his feathers gave it away, “you’re hopeless, Soap.” 

“What? I’m not wrong, and you know it! The lass smells delicious…nearly want to sink my teeth into her and make her mine.” Soaps words make Price shift in his seat, glaring at him through the mirror.

“Soap. Watch it. You will do no such thing to her unless she gives approval. We will be within her home we are to respect that.” Price’s tone was firm, his eyes narrowed as he focused back on the road. 

Ghost was silent in the passenger seat, his arms crossed and eyes narrowed, but Soap’s words seemed to spark something in his mind, “for a human she’s awfully trusting of us…seems stupid if you ask me…inviting a pack of hybrids into your home without asking anything regarding that nature.”

Gaz immediately moved on the defense, his feathers ruffled a bit, “hey now. I think she’s a sweetheart..Seems to be one of the humans that doesn’t seem to mind the fact we’re hybrids…maybe she thought it was rude to ask anything on it.”

Ghost looked out the window of the car, silent as he thought over Gaz’s words. It took a few moments before he spoke up, voice a tad softer than it was before, “There’s something off about her…I think we should look into her background when we get back to base.”

The other three were silent for a moment. They couldn’t deny you had a strange story as to why you were suddenly renting the rooms out, but they felt it was something of your story to tell. Price spoke up after a moment, “we can look into a background, only to ensure there is no danger into this house. But it is her story to tell us, I will not look further than is required to.”

They seemed to be in an agreement, to find out a tiny bit about your background and make sure you truly were who you said you were, but they would wait until you were comfortable to tell your story to them on why you lived alone so suddenly.

--------------

Tag List: @zoruxsblog @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying

[i-am-minty-fresh]

Little details in fanfiction that I always appreciate when authors add (shout out to One Piece authors!)

Feel free to add more in the comments/reblog! Will be updating!

1. Usopp having a different hair texture/wearing protective styles.

2. Different languages. The different seas have all different languages with dialects from specific islands (bonus points for Zoro’s island teaching him a Wano language while he also knows Eastern).

3. The crews hands being calloused. Sanji, Zoro, Franky, Usopp, and Nami would naturally have callouses from doing their interests. Luffy, Robin, Jimbei would have them from the various hard lives that they’ve led.

4. The crew having scars. Zoro’s arms would have cuts from learning how to properly swing a sword, Sanji’s would similarly be from learning how to use different knives, Luffy’s never carried if he gets a little torn up and he lived in the woods…he’s gotta have a ton of little scratches here and there, etc.

5. Brook knowing about older things when he was alive OR

6. Giving him a backstory before he joined the Rumbar Pirates.

7. Robin knowing sign language. With her fruit it would be perfect.

8. Nami and Usopp sending letters to Vivi and Kaya. (Really just any of the crewmates keeping their loved ones consistently updated).

9. Usopp having depression or a diagnosed anxiety disorder.

10. Trauma or PTSD. Come on…they all would have their ‘little things’ (Zoro sleeping by the stairs ‘just in case’, Sanji having some kind of eating problem, Luffy having nightmares about Marineford, etc.)

11. Goth family.

12. Zoro and Luffy having a thing. Maybe it’s not them dating specifically, but everyone else in the stories just being like, “but it’s Zoro and Luffy…it’s different between Zoro and Luffy”

13. The crew talking about their dead loved ones (I especially love when Nami, Usopp, and Sanji talk about their moms).

14. Creating an interesting backstory behind Zoro’s missing parents AND

15. Creating a truly hilarious three stooges-esque situation for Zoro’s scared up eye during the time skip.

16. Robin runs a book club/tea time with Sanji and Brook.

17. Sanji knows how to walk/run/fight in heels.

18. Chopper wants to hold his crewmates hands while they walk (or full on get carried by them).

New Additions:

19. Sanji doing all the cleaning and laundry.

*20. Chopper and Sanji being nutritional powerhouses!

*21. Zoro taking naps because he does the night shift protecting his crew.

*22. Sanji having insomnia or some kind of sleep issue.

*23. Luffy being super physically affectionate with his crewmate (hanging off of them, cuddling at bedtime, zero personal space, etc.)

*24. Nami being good with kids.

25. Sanji having Steel-toed boots.

*Numbers 20-24 are brought to you by @c0ckonfettii thanks so much! Lovely suggestions!

[wileys-russo]

Leah being annoying bf when they go swimming together. Pestering r to go in the water, wanting to cuddle on a lounger, untying r’s bikini top etc

topless II l.williamson

"rise and shine gorgeous!" you stirred as a body settled itself on top of you, sighing tiredly and covering your face with your hands. "no no no, none of that now." leah tutted, interlocking fingers with yours and pinning your hands by your head.

"since when are you a morning person? if you've decided to suddenly become one i might just need to break up with you." you grumbled, eyes cracking open still thick with sleep. "oh baby i love you too." leah cooed, kissing both of your cheeks with a grin.

"but no, i'm just in holiday mode. plus there's an all you can eat breakfast calling us, so up!" leah ordered, letting go of your hands and clapping, sitting on top of you above the covers. "you go enjoy. my holiday mode is a sleep in." you mumbled, patting her thigh.

"we sleep in at home all the time babe! get up, get up, get up, get up, get up-" leah repeated over and over, poking you as you whined and tried to throw her off. "leah!" you groaned, squealing as her bony fingers dug into your ribs.

"fine! i'm getting up." you huffed, giving your girlfriend a shove and sending her tumbling down to the bed. "leah! oh my god." you huffed as you tried to get up like she asked only for the blonde to grab you and pull you right back down.

"forgetting something?" leah grinned, hovering just over you with raised eyebrows. "mm finding a girlfriend whose not really annoying?" you gasped sarcastically as the defender narrowed her eyes, whatever comeback she had in mind silenced by the good morning kiss you knew she was after.

"now shift it because if we miss out on the pancakes since you're dragging your feet babe i will drown you in the pool later."

~

"baby we just got back from the beach! its the perfect time for a midday nap not another swim." you sighed as leah held firmly onto your hand, restricting you from pulling away toward the elevators.

"you can have a nap by the pool babe. order some food, have a couple drinks, work on your tan." leah smiled charmingly, swinging your interlocked hands to and fro as you gave in with a sigh, allowing her to drag you through the lobby toward the pool.

you sighed in relief seeing there was only a few other people littered around. it seemed everyone was overly friendly at this resort which leah had whisked you away to for the weekend and your two year anniversary, and every person you or leah bumped into was determined to engage you in some sort of long winded small talk.

you rolled your eyes as leah wasted no time diving right into the pool, setting your bag down and flicking out your towel, settling into the lounger with a content sigh as the sun bathed your back.

you were rewarded with ten minutes of peace before you heard the sounds of leah pulling herself out and padding over toward you. "leah i swear to god if you lay on me we're not having sex for the rest of this holiday." you warned seriously.

"so grumpy." your girlfriend chuckled, collapsing down onto the lounger beside you with a content sigh. "leah!" you huffed as the stole your drink, chugging the last of it and placing the empty glass back down on the table between you.

"what? i was thirsty." the blonde grinned as you sent her a glare and rolled onto your back, flicking your sunglasses down over your eyes. again you were rewarded with around ten minutes of peace before the sighs started.

the first one was subtle, just a small exhale that you ignored. the second one was a little louder, clearly intended for you to react in which you did not give leah the satisfaction. the third was more of a groan, and growing tired of her games you pushed your glasses up and cracked one eye open.

"what?" you now sighed, your girlfriend propping herself up on one arm and staring right back at you. "i'm bored!" leah complained with a frown as you rolled your eyes.

"you wanted to come to the pool baby, go play marco polo with yourself or something." you dismissed with a wave closing your eyes again. "thats not even possible!" leah whined as again you waved her off.

"go swim some laps then." "or you could come swim with me." "or you could just...swim alone." "but we're on holidays together."

"leah! just go for a swim, read a book, take a walk on the beach, anything." you groaned out, annoyed at the back and forth. "by myself?" leah scoffed in disbelief sitting up and staring down at you.

"yes love, by yourself." you confirmed, unwavering as leah huffed and you cracked an eye open watching her bikini clad body wander off. "not too far!" you yelled out after her, hearing her mock you and fling her arms up in the air.

this time it would seem the walk worked as you were rewarded with nearly a half an hour of time to yourself, flipping every few minutes and soaking up the sun you knew would be sorely missed once you both returned to london.

laid out on your stomach you became aware she'd returned when a body pressed itself against your back. "you're all wet, leah!" you groaned out tiredly, smacking her shoulder halfheartedly as her lips kissed the back of your neck.

"no thats sweat darling." the blonde grinned against your skin as you whined louder trying to shake her off without any luck.

"leah!" you hissed as she tugged on the tie of your bikini causing it to fall open. "oh my fingers slipped, what a shame." the defender smirked as you turned your head to glare up at her, messily tying it back up.

"whoops!" once again the knot was tugged free as your girlfriend pressed herself down on top of you. "you know they go topless in spain anyway gorgeous? i'm just trying to immerse you in the culture so you get the full experience!" the blonde teased, hands inching around under your stomach.

"you are literally so annoying." you sighed deeply in defeat, feeling her shift to sit up on the back of your thighs with a quiet chuckle.

"oh actually that's quite nice." you relaxed feeling her calloused hands start to massage your shoulders. "still annoying now?" your girlfriend sang out smugly as you only hummed, grateful she had found something to occupy herself which for once benefited you.

"leah." you warned quietly as her hands began to move lower, snapping the waistband of your bikini bottoms. thankfully before anything further could ensue the food you'd ordered earlier arrived and your girlfriend moved off of you allowing you to sit up, hastily tying your bikini top back up in the process.

"really?" you raised an eyebrow in amusement as she took the opportunity to slide in behind you, patting the vacant space between her legs with a grin.

with a shake of your head you settled yourself against her chest, the two of you making plans for your last day tomorrow as you pretended not to notice her stealing some of your fries every few minutes.

"so you're now tanned, you're watered, you're fed..." leah trailed off, lips peppering soft kisses down your shoulder blades as you hummed. "mm i wonder what you want in exchange?" you pondered, her hands wandering.

"oh nothing nothing, just to help you relax even more baby girl." the blonde smiled against your skin as her teeth tugged at your ear lobe teasingly. "mm i just ate a burger and like a kilo of fries lee, you're gonna have to wait awhile before you get your happy ending." you craned your head back and smile up at her.

"okay well in the meantime i guess we have to find some way to occupy ourselves don't we?" you barely had a moment to register her words before your body was hauled off the lounger and within seconds you were engulfed in a body of cold water.

kicking your way up to the surface you coughed and spluttered as water went up your nose, wincing as leahs head popped up and spat water in your face like she was a fountain with a cheeky smile.

letting out a cry you lunged for her, getting your hands on her shoulders and legs around her waist as you dunked her head under the water a few times before she pushed you off and spun around, pulling you into her with a wolfish grin

"what? you looked hot!"